let me count the ways
by tombombadillo
Summary: 52 weeks. 52 cards. 52 reasons. (Chapter a week, spoilers for aired episodes)
1. Chapter 1

**So I got this idea from a picture on Twitter, where somebody had gotten a packet of cards and had written 52 reasons why he loved his girlfriend and then had given it her, and I thought hey! Why not do that for Castle and Beckett! Only I'm doing it slightly differently, where Castle gives Kate a card for every week of the year. Spoilers for aired episodes. One chapter, every week.**

**Disclaimer: ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS IS VISITING FROM LONDON TODAY I AM SO HAPPY**

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_I love the way you love me_

Kate feels the edges of the card against her fingers when she shoves her hands into her coat pockets, that cold January morning. Castle hadn't joined her this morning, had shoved his head back under the covers when she attempted to wake him up, followed by barely audible grumbles about it being far too early and far too dark and _don't murderers ever sleep_. She'd huffed at him, called him a wuss, but he is cute when he's verging on the edge of sleep, face slack against the white sheets of his bed, and she'd feel bad for making him get out. So, she'd gone and scribbled a note with the address on it, just in case, but she expects she'll be sat in front of a murder board long before he makes any sort of appearance. But now, with a biting wind that makes her knuckles ache she wants his coffee mugs to wrap her hands around. She doesn't investigate straight away, traces the pad of her thumb across the edge, takes that deep breath before stepping under the yellow tape and finding herself immersed in yet another search for justice.

It's not until later when she's sat in the queen vic, a cup of coffee pressed against her chest, that she remembers it and pulls it out. The back is an unassuming red and white pattern, she recognises it as one of his many packs of cards that he has lying around the house. She's wondering what on earth he's playing at this time, wonders why on earth he has shoved a random card in her coat pocket of all places, and then she turns it over. It's the Ace of Hearts, and his writing is recognisable as it follows the shape of the heart. Her hand clenches around the coffee as she follows it around. He's – Castle… she slides the coffee too quickly into the cup holder, some of it spilling over onto her hand. Ignoring the pain she reaches for her phone, hits speed dial and waits impatiently for Castle to pick up. He does, after what seems like ten painful minutes and it's all she can to not cry when he says her name.

"Kate?"

"Castle… Castle, the card."

"I was wondering when you'd find it." He replies, which completely isn't helpful and doesn't answer any of the numerous questions that are fighting each other to get to the fore-front of her mind.

"What is this?"

"It's me telling you that I know."

That you know… what?" Kate hesitates, pressing the phone against her ear, even though she already knows the answer, can feel it in the furious drumbeat of her heart.

"That you love me. And that's fine. You're not ready to say it, and I'm not going to force you to say anything that you don't feel comfortable with, but I just want you to know that I know. You don't have to worry about finding a time and a way or forcing yourself to say it even when you're not ready. Anyway, I thought the Ace of Hearts was appropriate." He hummed a laugh, as always, amused at his own sense of humour.

"But why a card? Why not just… tell me?"

"Mainly because there was a likelihood that you would possibly kill me for doing something quite as… outrageous as this, so I planned it so I would not be anywhere around when you did read it."

"I'm not… I'm not going to kill you. I just… it took me by surprise." Kate turned the card over in her fingers, her mind turning it over in her head just as much. "But a playing card?"

"There is a reason for it, I promise."

"Are you going to tell me what it is, or do I have to guess?"

"It'll be pretty obvious soon, but there's 52 playing cards in a pack, and 52 weeks in a year."

"So I'll get one card every week?" Kate asks, reaching for her coffee again now that she's calmed down and her heart has stopped beating a samba against her ribs. "With something written on them?"

"I'm not just going to hand you a plain one. That would be pointless. Yes there will be something written on them."

"Is there a theme to all of this? Or is it just going to be completely random?"

"No, there's a theme. I expect you'll have worked it out by next week. It's not exactly subtle."

"Can I guess?"

"No, that's not allowed. It has to be a surprise."

Kate huffs and takes a sip from her coffee, slides the card back into her pocket. "Okay, surprise. Are you going to come in? I'm on my way back to the precinct now."

"Half an hour. Promise."

* * *

She realises, later, when the past half an hour has been spent making googly love-ball eyes across her dining room table at each other, that she's really not at all surprised that he already knows. She's not exactly doing a good job of hiding it.


	2. Chapter 2

_I love the way you look wearing nothing but a white sheet, your back bare and your skin aglow with morning sun._

* * *

He knows without having to count just how many vertebrae are in Kate's spine. It's what draws his attention one morning, winter sun casting a surprisingly bright glow through the blinds. It's been eight months, eight months and he's still not used to waking up to Kate in his bed. Her bed. Her form a shadow under the sheet on some occasions, most occasions, but not this morning. Last night's activities had left the room quite a lot hotter than wanted and both of them had abandoned the sheets, but at some point Kate had pulled a sheet up over her, draped over her hips and honestly, not a lot else. He props himself up with an elbow, spends a few quiet minutes just observing her, the way the hills and valleys of her spine move as she breath, the slow rise of her body, followed by the slow fall, breaths calm and even. Of course, he can't put off touching her for long, and it doesn't take that much time for him to reach out and trace one finger down her back. It's a terrain he's long since committed to memory, in his fingers and his mouth. Her skin is soft underneath his, like paper, and he's reminded, time and time again, just how fragile she can be. There's even a bruise, one that's not from him on the side of her ribs, received when a suspect had pushed her into the side of a car. She says it doesn't hurt, and it is faded a lot, more yellow than green's and purples. But he's tried to avoid it, and even know he just skirts his fingers around it.

So, he moves away from it, makes his way back up, shifting closer so he can drag his fingers up and around her neck, dipping down into the dip of her collarbones. He's not sure where this changed from simply touching her, but he needs Kate to wake up, to turn over in his embrace and wrap her arms around his neck, long slim fingers sliding through his hair and pulling him down to where she wants him. Her mouth or her neck, it depends, but he's happy to oblige her every need. Sometimes she keeps pushing, her back arching against him already even though he's barely touched her, and he just keeps going, pushing the sheet away as he goes. He loves those mornings, those where she just needs him so intently that she's already making him move before she's even opened her eyes.

Not today, though. Today she rolls over completely, settles herself in the curve of his body, a leg thrown haphazardly over his, mouth opening in a sigh against his collarbone. It just gives him more room to explore, presses his mouth to her pulse point, even as she mumbles something about sleep and teasing and _stop_. He moves his mouth upwards, breathes against her hairline, and he knows she likes that. Kate groans, whether it's because he's not stopping or because she wants him to carry on, he's not sure, but judging by the way her leg has tightened around his, he'd say it's definitely the latter.


	3. Chapter 3

**I have no idea if this actually counts as an M, but I'm putting it as it just in case.**

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_I love the way you __love __my books_

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The card is stuck inside her favourite coffee mug one morning, and she pulls it out as she shuffles from the shelf to the stove, the hem of Castle's shirt tickling the backs of her thighs. She turns the card over in her fingers, mulling over the words he's written around the frame for the Jack of Spades.

"Castle?"

He appears at the door, sleep rumpled and dressed in nothing but his boxers and raises an eyebrow at her. "Hm?"

"You love the way I _love_ your books?" He smirks in that self-satisfied way he has when he knows he's got something that he can hold against her, and she narrows her eyes at him. "Castle."

He stepped up behind her, pinning her to the side of the stove and she can feel the heat of his chest through the thin cotton of the shirt. "Yesterday… when I came in…"

"You were crashing about in here…" Kate murmured, running her finger across the edge of the card. "And when I asked you why you were crashing about in here you were very secretive."

"Only because you were… busy… doing something else." He nibbled on the column of her neck, his hips pressing incessantly pressing into hers. "And I didn't want to interrupt."

Kate attempts to turn around but he stops her, laughs at her attempt of moving so she could get at him. "Do you know how hot it is when you walk into your girlfriends apartment and she's been lying on her bed wearing nothing but a pair of ridiculous barely supposed to be there underwear and a t-shirt, and she is attempting to read your book but she's so ridiculously turned on she can't concentrate? So… she slips a hand into that barely there lace – and she's _so _wet, she is _oh so_ wet – and she carries on reading."

Castle pulls the card from Kate's grasp – smoothing out the wrinkles from where she's been bending it with her grip and leaves it flat on the surface. Kate is still beneath him, her muscles tense and her breath hard and uneven. He pushes closer, his own need becoming more present against her.

"But then… things get intense and suddenly just a hand isn't good enough. Then it's a finger, but that's not good enough. That's never good enough because she's been _spoilt_, so she adds another, long and slim and _absolutely dripping_, and it's so much _better _and all she needs now is to press the palm of her hand _just there_ and twist her hips like _that-"_

Kate turns around viciously – hands flat against his chest – and glares at him. And he would be scared – he _would_ – but her eyes hold more arousal than anger (and oh, he does like it when she's aroused and angry all at the same time).

"You know about that."

Castle stepped back, leaving Kate pinned against the stove feeling cold and definitely not anywhere near being satisfied. "No, I didn't, I just guessed. But it's nice to know that you get off while reading my books.

Kate growled and pushed herself back against him. "_Castle._"

"Well, you did make it obvious. Your cheeks were that delightful shade of pink, and you dragged me belt first back into the bedroom as soon as you saw me. You wanted something, and I was the only one who could give it you. But I wasn't there, and the next best thing was my books."

Kate hummed against his neck, curled her hands against his back. "Maybe I just wanted to get off to your books. Maybe… I just wanted to read Nikki and Rook, imagining how you'd sit at your desk writing and imagining that it's us." Kate leant back, the movement pushing her hips into his, making his eyes flutter. "Cos you did, didn't you? Every single time they fucked, or made love, hard and fast against her front door, or long and slow in bed. It was never them. It was always us."

Later he'd deny that he whined, but Kate knows what she heard (recognises it from the number of impatient whines that he's drawn out of her), scrapes her teeth across his stubble just so she can make him growl. And Kate does like it when he growls.

"We haven't done the front door in a while…" he muses, his hands finding purchase against her hip. "And you're not wearing any underwear."

"You're wearing enough underwear for the both of us."

"Hard to do anything against anything with underwear. You wanna change that?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: my Castle download is taking 2 hours ARE YOU KIDDING ME RN.**

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_I love how you find magic in the simplest of things_

Another long weekend has Kate taking them up to her father's cabin in the woods. There's been another snow fall and she wants to make the most of the winter weather, to show Castle where she'd spent that summer, to walk along the path to the lake, the sound of nature surrounding her. Castle, of course, wants to go up to the cabin for a long weekend for completely other reasons. And she'd let him seduce her, lure her into the bed and the shower for the first night (and most of the morning) but now she wants to get out and show him this place. This place where she's grown, and fought, and lived, all for him.

"Let's go for a walk."

"A walk? Kate, it's snowing and it's cold and just stay in bed for a few more hours-"

"Castle, we've stayed in bed for the past three hours. Come on, you're supposed to be making up for you ruining our Hamptons weekend. And I want to go for a walk." She shoved at his side as she rolled away, already reaching for a shirt. "Get dressed, I'll make coffee."

He huffs, and buries his head in the pillow for a few moments, starfished across the bed. Kate runs her hands through the short hairs at the back of his neck. "Come on, Castle. Up and at them."

She'd kill him if he ever uttered the words "you look positively adorable" in front of her, but it doesn't stop him thinking it. And with a woolly hat jammed over her head, tassels hanging down past her ears, he feels perfectly entitled to say it. She hasn't done anything with her hair, has just left it in its natural state and there's snowflakes caught in the strands, hanging down past her shoulders. She's even wearing mittens. Katherine Beckett is wearing _mittens_.

"I loved snow as a kid." Kate admits, tipping her head backwards to watch the flakes fall from the sky. "As soon as I knew school was shut I'd be out at the nearest park, hat, scarf and gloves. Snowmen, snow angels, snowball fights. Sometimes my mother and father would take me sledging. Or if it was a weekend, we'd drive up here Friday, spend Saturday just mucking around, and then end it with hot chocolate by the fire."

"What about now?"

"Still love it. Just not when it interferes with work. I love the beauty of it." She's looking at him now, her eyes close enough to green in the white light. "Covers everything in a blanket. Like it's trying to protect the world."

"Where's the lake?"

"The lake? You're standing on it."

His head shot up, eyes wild and full of panic – "Kate?!"

"It's fine, Castle. It freezes over every year. No one's ever fallen through."

"How do you-"

"Castle, trust me, okay? I know this lake like the back of my hand. It's perfectly safe." She stepped up to him, toe to toe, pulled the lapels of his coat more firmly across his chest. "Trust me?"

"Yeah, yeah. I trust you."

"Good. You wanna go stand in the middle?" She's already tugging him along, flashing him a brilliant smile that he's still not quite used to seeing. He follows (as usual), feels nothing but the crunch of the snow underneath his feet. Kate's walking ahead, confident and smooth, just like usual. And he's stumbling along behind her, tripping on snow and his own feet. "You ever think you'd be able to just stand in the middle of a lake?"

"I'm expecting it to crack beneath my feet any second."

"You'll be fine. It's fine. Okay?"

"Yeah, I know. I trust you."

"Okay, now, just stand and listen."

He does, even closes his eyes. The silence is absolute, nothing. No wind. No birds. Kate's and his breathing, but that's it. "I don't hear anything." He opens his eyes again, turns to Kate, but her own eyes are closed, her head tipped back slightly again. There's a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and if she didn't look quite so beautiful and gorgeous and stunning he'd kiss it right off her.

"I know. It's magical." She takes a quiet breath, opens up her eyes again. "Some summers, I'd take a row boat out here. Throw an anchor and just spend the day watching the clouds pass by. There's just… something about feeling like you're in the middle of no-where. Just you, and your problems aren't as big as you thought they were. Summer wind blows them away, winter snow covers them up. Just like that."

"What about last year? When you were here in the summer?"

"They have a floating platform. For diving, stuff like that. Days when I was feeling okay, Dad would row me out, leave me there. Row back to the shore and wait for me to be ready to come back." She tucked an arm through the cook of his elbow, leant against his side. "Sometimes I'd last five minutes. The sunlight would glint off the water and I'd be screaming for Dad to come back and get me. Sometimes I was out there all day. Like the day your book came out. I was so absorbed in it that I didn't realise. It wasn't until Dad came rowing back, telling me the sun was going down. Most days I just lay on the wood and looked at the sky."

"I wish I could have been there. I wish-"

"I know, Castle. I know."


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry about the delay with updating. Nothing I wrote seemed to work.**

**Disclaimer: where u sneak peeks**

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_I love the way you find me in the middle of the night_

It makes him laugh (and act just a little bit smug) every morning. Kate always goes to sleep on her side of the bed, every night, body slack and covers pulled up to her chin. And yet, when he wakes in the morning her body is always curled up around his, a leg thrown over his thigh, toes tickling the sensitive skin of the back of his knee (her toes wiggle in her sleep, he discovered. He thinks it's adorable). Her arm is across his waist, fingers long and slim against his ribcage. He doesn't know if it's just Kate's sub-conscious, doesn't know if she wakes up in the night with the need to just feel him there next to her.

Sometimes she is awake, he knows, he's woken up with the feather light touch of her fingertips against his hip bones, her smile light and easy and a little bit shy in the darkness of the bedroom. She doesn't need to explain any more, he's woken her on more than one occasion when the need to feel her and touch her and taste her has just been too much. Neither mind, the half hour or so missed of sleep is easily caught up on.

Sometimes he'll wake in the morning and she's practically lying on top of him (there's a lot more fun involved when they've both gone to bed wearing nothing but their skin), and it means he can wake her slowly, fingers trailing down her back, along her arms. And then it's long and slow and quiet, whispered words in each other's ears, the slow rasp of his palms sliding along her skin.

Some mornings he'll wake and thought it's Kate that started it, he's the one that has his leg over hers, her back pressed against his chest, and then it's hot and fast and loud and pressing her into the mattress with his hips, Kate's hands clawing at the sheets.

Sometimes it's neither. Sometimes they're both perfectly content with lying in bed, their breathing soft and quiet, happy to just be in the moment. Eventually one of them will disturb it, need a shower (usually Kate, though he is not against the idea of joining her), wanting food (usually him, pancakes or waffles is still his firm favourite), or solving a murder (neither of them particularly enjoy that one). But he knows, regardless of showers or waffles or dead bodies, where ever they fall asleep, he knows that Kate will always be there when he wakes up.


	6. Chapter 6

_I love the way you humour me (and also scare me to death at the same time)_

"_Kate, have you seen the weather?!"_ he hisses the moment she steps in through his front door.

As a matter of fact she has seen the weather. Witnessed it first person, running from where she'd parked her the car a couple of blocks away (she loves his loft, but damn it, he needs better parking). She shakes her hood free, water droplets flying everywhere. "Yeah, Castle. I've seen the weather."

"But _look_ at it!"

She rolls her eyes at him, hangs her coat up in his closet. Huh. Apparently she has her own peg now. Not sure when that happened. "I was just out in it. I have no desire to look at it anymore."

She turns towards his coffee machine, needs something to warm her up, and if it's not Castle, then it's gonna have to be the next best thing. Luckily, he seems to have anticipated her arrival and it's already brewed. He's still standing by the window when she's got her hands wrapped around the warm ceramic of her favourite mug (she's also not sure when that happened either), and she leans against the frame next to him. "It's just weather, Castle."

"Just weather? Kate, it's gone from hail to snow to hail to snow to hail to snow in the past ten minutes. And the _wind_."

"It's a storm. You have seen plenty of those."

The room lights up with a brilliant flash of lightning, soon followed by a crashing sound of thunder that even has her turning to watch. Downstairs the streets are emptying of people and cars, the weather sending people scurrying for whatever shelter they can find. "What if this is it?"

She turns to him, an eyebrow raised questioningly. "What if it's what?"

"The apocalypse! What if the Mayan's got it wrong!"

"Well of course they got it wrong. The world's still here, right? It's just a winter storm."

"That's what you say. We'll be fast asleep in bed and the next thing we know there's hordes of zombies knocking on the door and trying to eat our brains and the four horsemen riding out of hell and giant bats coming out to eat us all and-"

"You spend too much time thinking about this." Kate said with a laugh, nudging her hip against his.

"It pays to be prepared, Kate." He turns away from the weather, his mind already going to zombie apocalypse escape routes. He's been stocked up for weeks, both the loft and his house at the Hamptons have both been zombie proofed (much to Kate's eye rolling and Alexis's amusement) and he's ready to run there at any given moment.

"I've got my gun. Any zombies try and eat your brains, I'll kill them. Okay?"

He snatches the mug of barely touched coffee from her hand, and she whines at the loss of warmth until his hands are spanning her waist, his mouth slanted against hers. "You're so hot." He mumbles, ending the sentence with the tiniest bite to her lip.

"I'm cold now you've stolen my coffee." She grumbles, pulling away and attempting to glare at him.

He laughs it off and spins them around, walking her backwards towards his bedroom. "No zombies in the shower, I promise."

* * *

It's a couple of days later, the storm having blown itself out, only to be replaced by brilliant February sunshine. Of course, now it's dark and the middle of the night, and something's woke him up. Kate's bedroom is dark, the light from outside blocked by the blinds. He breathes slowly, tries to gather his senses. He can hear Kate's soft and easy breathing, lost in the lull of sleep, the distant buzz of traffic, and – he freezes, his blood running cold in his veins. The sound of harsh breathing reaches his ears and his breath sticks in his throat and his heart thumps against his chest.

"_Kate_." He hisses, one arm stretching out and pushing at her. "Kate, wake up."

She grunts, turns over to face him, but her eyes are still firmly closed. "Sleep, Castle."

"No, no, Kate, you gotta wake up."

She opens one eye blearily. "What?"

"Can you hear that?"

She opens both eyes, still looking at him. "Hear what? Just traffic."

"No, just… sh a minute. There's somebody… breathing. And it's not you and it's not me, and you have your gun right?"

"Yes, Castle. I have my gun. It's in the drawer, like it always is." She goes to turn over again, but he catches her arm. "Castle, seriously?"

"I think it's zombies."

"Ugh, seriously? It's half three in the morning." He sits up, pulling the covers with him, ignores Kate's whine about it being cold. "_Castle_."

"There's something there, Kate. I swear." It's the muffled giggle in a pillow that has him turning around, incredulously. "It's not funny!"

Kate laughs again, not so muffled, reaches out to pluck at his shirt. It makes him jump, flaps his arms at invisible bats. "It's not zombies."

"Well it sounds a lot like them!" he insists, twisting his head this way and that. "If it's not zombies, what is it?"

"I recorded the sound of zombies. Ohh, you are so easy, Castle."

"You recorded the sound of zombies and made it play in the middle of the night, even though a couple of days ago I _said_ there was going to be an apocalypse-"

"It was too good an opportunity to miss." She hums, stretches away from him to reach for the tiny device that was now so obviously omitting the harsh breathing. "No zombies, I promise." She pulls on his t-shirt until he's lying flat on his back curls herself around him, listens to the sound of his heartbeat slow down.

"That was so not funny, Kate."

She knows he's not really annoyed, can hear the humour laced through his voice, so she presses a kiss to his clothed shoulder, closes her eyes. "You promise no more apocalyptic theories?"

"No more apocalyptic theories."

"Then no more zombies."


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm sorry, health issues are currently causing difficulties and I'm not finding the motivation to write a lot recently. I'm hoping I've got over the worse of it, so here you go.**

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_I love the way you miss me_

"Are you here yet?"

"You'd know if I was there, Kate. Mainly by your sudden lack of clothes. Soon, I promise."

Castle hears her aggravated sigh, and he has to bite back his laugh. Truth is, he's just as impatient as she is. It's been a week. A week of book signings all down the East coast, and he loves his fans, he does, but he misses (loves) her more, and each signing dragged along more slowly than the one before. And don't get him started on that last flight. It felt like he was flying from Australia. If this is how torturous it is to be away from her for just a week, how on earth is he going to cope when he has book tours that are days and days and more days on top of that. Maybe he could convince Kate to come with him. Ooh, they could make a proper holiday out of it.

"How soon is soon?" She interrupts his internal monologue, the tone of her voice implying that she is really, really annoyed at him. It wouldn't be the first time, but he knows she's not annoyed. No, she's definitely something. Complete opposite of annoyed.

"Half an hour." There's another exasperated sigh, and he can just imagine her pacing, yoga pants and a baggy shirt, minimal make-up, getting all the more impatient with his tardiness. "Not my fault the plane landed in the middle of rush hour."

"Can't you walk?" she whines (actually _whines_) down the phone at him, and he is tempted. He's so sorely tempted because really would it really take longer? He doubts it, from his geographical knowledge he's maybe ten, fifteen blocks away, but he's tired and really all he wants to do is just sit in a car with his eyes closed. But he's desperate to get back to her. A week's worth of cold empty beds and only one cup of coffee in the morning, and no one to share his showers with has left him jittery with barely suppressed need.

"You just that desperate to get me into bed?"

"If we even make it that far." She grumbles, and he hears a loud thud as she no doubt lands on the sofa. "Seriously, which option is quicker?"

"Car, probably. I don't know, but I think we're moving."

"Can't you tip your driver and get him to go faster?"

"Can only go as fast as traffic allows me, Kate. I'll be there soon."

She growls and hangs up on him.

* * *

Honestly, he'd call it an ambush. He's barely a whisker of a hair inside her door before she's yanking him inside. He expects her mouth on his, frantic and hot and hard, but she just curls herself around him, palms flat against his shoulder blades, forehead resting in the crook of his neck. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too. You okay?"

She nods against his neck. "Yeah, just long week. Glad you're home."

"Try not to smell me." He says quietly, wrapping his own arms around her. "I stink of airports."

Her laugh is muffled against his shirt. "I don't mind. You can have a shower."

"Just as long as you're in it with me."

"Hm, I suppose that can be arranged." She pulls away but slides her hand down his arm until she reaches his fingers, tangles them with his own. "Glass of wine?"

"Please."

He lets her lead him through to the main room, and she nudges her hip against his, urging him in the direction of the couch. "Promise me you're not going away again for a while."

"I'll try not to. You should come with me next time." He sinks onto the couch with a groan, head back against the cushions as Kate empties the wine bottle into two glasses.

"I have a job, Castle. I can't just up and go swanning off to the other end of the country."

Castle takes the glass of wine Kate holds out to him, holds it steady as she sits on his lap, her own glass in her hand. "You have holidays." He replies, taking a long deserved drink. "You should actually make use of them once in a while. I'm not saying the whole trip. Just a week. Maybe Europe. Europe's nice."

"You're going on a European tour?"

"I don't know. Paula's been thinking about it, but I've been holding off. Nothing's confirmed, but in the next couple of years, maybe."

Kate sags in his arms. "Next couple of years, okay."

"That okay with you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I just…"

"Just?"

"Where are we gonna be in two years time?"

He laughs, wraps an arm around her waist and leans forward to put his glass on the table. "You really want me to answer that question?"

Kate wraps her arm around his neck, pulls herself closer to him. "I don't know."

"Right, well, let's not think about it." He plucks the glass from her willing hands, leaves it on the coffee table. "Right now, let's think about how you're sitting in my lap and are wearing far too many clothes for this to be considered anyway productive.."


	8. Chapter 8

**I honestly thought I wasn't going to be able to get this chapter out, and I've re-written it about five times, but eh. Okay. I'm happy. Ish. Enough.**

**Disclaimer: UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU UURGH**

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_I love how you get embarrassed_

"Why do you get embarrassed when I appreciate your… loudness?" Castle asks, maybe half an hour after she had told him, firmly and repeatedly to _shut up_ and let her go to sleep.

Kate twists her head around to face Castle. "What?"

"Every time I talk about hot it is when you just close your eyes and bite your lip and moan. _Loudly_. And that little squeak you do when I-"

Kate turns over and has his earlobe between her fingers before he can even finish his sentence and he winces. "I do _not_ squeak."

"You do! Anyway, that's not the point. What's so embarrassing about it? It's not like you're embarrassed by the fact that you do it. What is it?"

"Because you do it in _public_. In front of co-workers. And my _Dad_. I don't want my father to know what I do in bed, or how loud I am or whatever."

"It was not my fault! I thought he was still in the kitchen." He stares back at her, all blue eyed innocence. And damn him, she loosens her hold on his ear just a little bit.

"You said you... liked it when I got embarrassed." Kate asks, flashing back to when she'd found today's card tucked into her toothbrush holder that morning. Castle had already left for the day, a meeting taking up his morning before he'd joined her at the precinct.

"Kaaate." Castle admonishes, raising his eyebrows at her. "I did not say I _liked_ it when you got embarrassed."

"Castle-"

"No, you have to say it probably."

She glares at him, is almost tempted to pinch his ear again. "_Fine_. You said you loved it when I get embarrassed."

"And I do. But it's the more when you do that absolutely adorable little smile, and you try and hide yourself in the nearest thing available. A pillow, the sofa. Me."

"And?"

"And, it's funny. You're normally this unfaffable detective with this super duper confidence who can flip tables and tackle suspects and walks into a club with a ridiculously short dress and ridiculously high heels and I'm the one tripping over my own feet, and you can interrogate the hardest people and not even break a sweat and yet you get adorably ruffled by the fact you make noise during sex."

"You're a sap."

"Yeah, and you love it."

"Castle."

He laughs, tickles his fingers against her rib cage. "What, you do! Now go, away. Trying to sleep."


	9. Chapter 9

**This is definitely rated M. AND MY MOTHER WALKED IN WHILE I WAS WRITING IT. MOTHER. PLEASE.**

**So yeah, if hot jealous secks up against a wall is not your thing you might want to skip this.**

**Disclaimer: I. AM. STILL. NOT. OVER. HUNT. LIKE. AT. ALL.**

* * *

_I really, really love when we're undercover_

Oh, he loves undercover. He really, really loves undercover work. He really loves it when it involves nightclubs, because then it involves dresses that are more long shirts, long bare legs that he can't look at without imagining them wrapped around his waist or draped across shoulders, paired with ridiculously high heels that dig into his back, or his thighs. And the great thing is, he's not going to get told off for staring. Leering. Gawking. Drooling. Because everyone else is staring too. And he gets to go out with her. He gets to go to the club with her. Oh, today is _good_.

* * *

Everyone's gaze follows them into the club. Or rather, it follows Kate. Follows Kate in that tight red, barely reaches the back of her thighs dress, follows those forever legs and the inch black heels, right through the entrance, through the coat check where some tall brooding blond Ken doll with an equally blond Barbie on his arm almost embarrasses himself, and right onto the dance floor. Which, of course, is where he almost embarrasses himself because Kate has to wrap herself around him, all hot and dark, and the silk of her dress is like liquid in his hands.

"Turner's by the bar." She whispers, her breath ghosting over the skin of his neck. "Gonna go ask him to buy me a drink."

"I could buy you a drink." Castle whines, not entirely happy with the prospect of some murder suspect buying _his_ girlfriend anything.

"You get to take me home, Castle. Stop whining."

"I'm not whining," Castle bristles, "I'm just saying that if you really wanted a drink then I would be more than happy to buy you one. You don't need to ask suspected murderers-"

"Oh, jeez, Castle. Shut up."

* * *

"You were jealous."

He grunts against her mouth, wrapps his hand around the flesh of her thigh and hisd it up around his hip. "You were dancing with him."

"Had to," she hisses, "needed information."

Castle bit down on her collarbone, pushed her harder against the wall until she was up on her tiptoes, fingers like vices in his shirt. "And you needed to dance?"

"Castle – seriously. Just dancing. Not even anything provocative."

"Everything with you is provocative in that dress." He growled, pushing the hem up and over her hips. "He had his hands all over you."

"And I kept my hands to myself."Kate replies, tugging his shirt out of his trousers. "My hands are all yours."

"Better be all mine." He spins her around, giving her the opportunity to wrap her legs round his waist, her hands wrapped around the back of his neck, tugging his mouth towards her so she can bend her own to claim Castle's mouth, her hair falling in soft waves around them. "He was a rubbish dancer."

"The worst." She agrees as he pushes her against the opposite wall. "And his breath smelt."

"No more talking about him." He hisses, palming a breast through the silk of her dress.

"No more talking full stop." Kate replies, throwing her head back against the wall, her hands sliding down across his shoulders, down his broad chest and to his belt buckle. He's hot and hard and _solid_ under her palm, and he presses himself against her hand, needing some relief from the pressure that's building up at the base of his spine.

Kate gasps against his mouth as he works his hand in-between them, presses the back of his hand against her underwear. "Fuck, Kate, you're wet."

"You're hot when your jealous." She replies easily tugging his pants and his boxers as far as she can down his legs. "Do you know how arousing it was, knowing that you were watching me? Wishing you were the one with their hands around my waist, all hot and sweaty, the beat of the music pulsing in your veins. And you knew, you knew that you were going to be the one who gets to take me home, take off my dress, have my legs wrapped around your waist. You're the one who gets to make me come apart _completely_-"

Castle smashes her mouth against hers, pulls her underwear aside and pushes into her in one smooth move. He swears into the curve of her neck, giving Kate time to adjust as she throws her head back. He's thankful for the fact he's still wearing his shirt because he can feel Kate's nails digging into his skin, even through the material. It doesn't take long before Kate is pushing her pelvis into his in slow, mesmerising circles and for a moment he forgets that he's supposed to be jealous and possessive and taking back what's his (even though it was never gone in the first place, he knows she's his). He lets her think she's got control, just for now, rolls her hips once, twice, three times before he thrusts up _hard_, and Kate closes her eyes, spits out a swear word.

It still amazes him, even after eight months that he can make Kate Beckett, renowned homicide detective who can flip tables, will kick over chairs and can run down culprits in sky high heels, lose her composure.

"Kate…" he whispers into her neck, his arms wrapping tight around her waist, tugging her that little bit closer.

She whimpers his name (and if that doesn't make him feel a little bit smug he doesn't know what will). "Castle – Castle, _please_-"

He thrust up, over and over, not letting her catch her breath, her heels leaving dents on his skin trying to pull him closer – and she is – pulling him closer and deeper and higher – a never ending spiral that he never wants to end – but then she's clamping down around him, crying out and arching away from the wall and he can't stop himself from following – the rhythmic pulses of her muscles completely milking him until he can't stand up straight and he turns around quickly, slides down the wall until they're in a sweaty tangle of limbs on her floor.

"I wouldn't, you know," Kate hums against his neck, her mouth travelling upwards, scraping her teeth against his jaw, his way-past-midnight shadow a scratch against her cheek. "Everything… all of this… it's all for you."


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: GREYS ANATOMY IS A VERY DISTRACTING SHOW**

_I love it when you're frustrated_

* * *

He wakes to the bed moving, opens his eyes to find Kate hovering over him, stretching across to his bedside table to reach her phone. He's not entirely sure why it's on his side of the bed (though, now he thinks about it he realises they ended up at some point switching places during the night), but he lets her answer it. She props herself up at his side, runs a thumb across his temple as she listens to the address dispatch is giving her. She's not wearing much, one of his soft cotton jumpers that she keeps squirreling away in his drawer and won't let him take home. Not that he minds, or cares. She can keep all of his wardrobe in that one drawer if she really feels the need to. But he's well aware that the jumper is the only thing that she's wearing, and he's feeling in a particularly adventurous (some would say daring, some would say stupid) so he lets his hand drift up underneath the hem. Her gaze flicks to him momentarily, and he grins. One second, and he's up at her ribcage, that ticklish spot that he knows makes her squirm. She stretches past him again, not so subtly getting an elbow in his own ribcage reaching for the pad of post it notes that are a permanent resident on her bedside table. He waits until she's scribbled the address down before looping an arm around her waist and rolling them over. Kate huffs, but lets him continue, tilts her head back so he can get at her neck.

"Castle…" she warns, her voice low and gravelly and all the things they shouldn't be if she has any hope of stopping this before they get completely carried away and they're late at the crime scene. "Castle, there's a body."

"Definitely a body. Very, very nice body." He mumbles, pushing the collar of the jumper aside with his chin.

"Not my body. Dead… there is a dead body. Dead body and I have to… go."

Castle carries on downwards; pushing the hem of the jumper up until it's wrapped around her chest. "Five minutes," he mumbles, pressing his mouth to the soft skin underneath her bellybutton, "five minutes, and then I promise I will not try and get you out of your clothes."

"You haven't got me out of my clothes now." Kate replies, dragging her fingers through her hair.

"You're not wearing your clothes. That jumper definitely belongs to me. I remember buying it."

"Mine now." Kate hums, her eyes drifting closed as Castle's mouth closes around her hip.

"You are… a no good… dirty, rotten… jumper stealing… thief." He says, his mouth and fingers no-where near where she wants them. "I should press charges."

"You should definitely press something. And preferably some time soon."

Castle laughs, rises up over her, a knee in between her legs, almost pressing right where she needs it, and she could just shuffle _down_ a bit "But Kate… you've got a murder investigation. Don't tell me that NYPD Detective Kate Beckett would rather have sex with an admittedly ruggedly handsome man than go bring a killer to justice." He looks down at her, head tilted to the side.

"Not sex. No time for sex. Just… mouth. Want…"

"You want my mouth?"

"_Please_."

He kisses her, hard and Kate arches up, groaning into his mouth. "Sorry. You've got a job to do."

* * *

She hates him. She really, really hates him because he's a bastard. He's a smug egotistical bastard and she hates him. He's acting all gleeful, and throwing her stupid and ridiculous looks and she hates him for it because he _knows_. He knows and she has to sit at her desk for at least another two hours before she even has a hope in hell of getting him out of here. And he has to act all…

"You really want to hit me right now, don't you?"

She ignores his question, stabs at the keys on her computer and she's not imagining his face on them.

"You know why I do it, don't you?"

"Because you're an ass. And you get off on being a torturer and a tease."

"Which is not necessarily a bad thing."

"Speak for yourself." She huffed, sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs in a way that made that smug grin return with double intensity. Ass.

"I get to make it up to you. I get to make it up to you, in _so_ many ways, and you get very feisty when you're frustrated and that is mutually pleasurable to both parties-"

"Can we not talk about this in the precinct?"

His grin widens, and Kate closes her eyes. "Well you seemed very interested in talking in that store cupboard a couple of weeks ago."

"I don't remember doing much talking."

He carries on, ignoring the rolling of her eyes. "And there was the time after that undercover in that club, and Gates wasn't around and Ryan and Esposito had gone home and you forcibly dragged me into the bathroom and _that_ was fun. Ooh, or that time where we went a whole three days without seeing each other because we were both ridiculously busy and you had a couple of days off, and you were that annoyed and frustrated you didn't let me out of that bedroom for about fifty-ish hours. I make you frustrated, because then it's lots and _lots_ of fun. For both of us."

* * *

"Are you getting yourself off on my hip?"

There's a brief moment of silence, and he waits for Kate to deny it, to shift away and pull the covers up over her head and pretend she has no idea. But he's sure – she's practically pressing herself against his hipbone jerking her pelvis in odd movements. There is no reason for her to be doing that. Other than the fact she's trying to get herself off. Against his hip.

"I wasn't finished," she bites into her pillow, "and you were asleep."

"I was not asleep." He tries to move, to roll them over. "And I can help."

"You dare move and I'm going to shoot you." Kate bites back, pressing a hand against his shoulder and keeping him pinned.

He stays, but he presses a hand against her lower back, pushing her harder against him until she sags against him, her forehead hot and sweaty against the curve of his neck. He pulls the blankets up over them, wriggles his hips to get comfy.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You were asleep." She mumbles against his shoulder, "You're cute when you're asleep."


	11. Chapter 11

**Slight (okay major) detour from anything at all canon, but oh well. But hey, an update that is early! W O W.**

**Disclaimer: I think my dog has a cold.**

* * *

_I love the way you're secretly a closet romantic_

Kate's staring at him when he wakes. He doesn't remember passing out on her couch, only remembers some kind of ridiculous argument about something completely irrelevant and she's ignored him for the entirety of the afternoon. And in the end he couldn't bear not talking to her because, well, he couldn't not talk to her. So, he used his key (his key that is for emergency's and emergency's only) to let himself in. She's not here, but it's late and she's got to be at work tomorrow, and he thinks he hears the shower running. So, he makes himself at home on her couch, doesn't realise that he's even fallen asleep until he's jerking awake and half falling off. He grunts and pushes himself back onto the sofa with his hand, his forehead hitting Kate's bare thigh.

"Kate. Sorry. Didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's okay." She replies, stroking her fingers through the short hair above his ears. "You used your key."

"It was an emergency," he mumbled, "you weren't talking to me."

"And if you didn't have a key?"

"Well, I've battered down your door before. I can do it again." He pushes himself up and leans over to kiss her. "Why are we arguing?"

"Honestly, I can't remember. Something stupid, probably."

"Mmm. You wanna go to bed?"

Kate plucks at the hem of his shirt, pulls it out of his trousers. "Yeah, bed would be nice. You look like you're going to fall asleep any second."

"Long day." He mumbles again, sagging back against the sofa. "Being ignored is tiring. You need to stop doing that, because it's really draining and if I have to batter down your door just to make you talk to me then I'm going to be even more tired, and too tired to even try to convince you to start talking to me again. So you're gonna have to not. Please."

"If I do ignore you, Castle, it's not going to be permanent. I love you, okay. You irritate me than I ever thought possible, but I love you, and I want to spend absolutely every irritating minute with you."

"That's cheating, Katherine Beckett. You stole that from Scrubs."

Kate huffed. "Fine." She looked around slowly, thinking carefully. Eyeing up her books. "Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the desire to mate every second of the day. It is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body... For that is just being in love; which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away."

Castle laughed. "Louis de Bernières, _Captain Corelli's Mandolin."_

_Kate tipped her head back. "I hate your vast vocabulary knowledge sometimes."_

_"Yeah, I know. Cons of dating a writer."_

_"There are pros?"_

_"Oi," Castle nudged her knee, "you just said you love me."_

_"That does not mean there are any pros. Loving someone is not necessarily a good thing, it can hurt. It hurts when you love someone and you can't do anything about it. When you see them, and they're with someone else, and you love them but they're not loving you. That hurts. Or when __someone__ asks you to go the Hampton's, and then brings his ex-wife __instead__. Or when you have to pretend that you weren't absolutely gutted when someone was going to ask you out on a date but can't because your then boyfriend walks in. Or when you spend a year wishing, hoping and praying that the person you love will stay around long enough for you to get your crap together, and then you think he's going to ask you out on a date, but then you say something stupid-"_

_"Kate, you realise you have told me this-"_

_"Yeah. Yes, I am aware that I have told you all of this."_

"And you weren't getting your crap together, Kate. You were healing. Completely different. We just needed to…"

"Talk. That is what we needed to do."

"We're repeating ourselves. And we are talking now. And that is good."

"Ugh, anyway. Bedtime. You're tired."

"Keep testing me." Castle says, hauling himself up from the sofa. "On your romantic quotations. You know a surprising amount of them."

"I may not be your first, but to be your last would be perfect." She says, pulling herself up after him. "What about that one?"

"No one knows. Anonymous."

"Do you look these up?"

Castle turns around so he can walk backwards towards her bedroom. "You know them just as well as I do. Do you have a book of them?"

"I do not reveal my sources of knowledge." She laughs, reaching for his shirt buttons even as they move. "But okay, what lies behind us, and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."

"Ralph Waldo Emerson. Come on, Kate. Try a little."

"Love makes you do the wacky."

Castle laughed, pulled back the covers on her bed. "Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Too easy."

"Like you're trying to fight gravity on a planet that insists that love is like falling and falling is like this."

Castle pulls Kate down onto the bed with him, starts pulling at the hem of her own shirt. "Ani DiFranco. Falling is like this. Music."

Kate rolled sideways away from him, slapping his hands away from her. "We're supposed to be sleeping. Not quoting romantic whatever, or getting naked."

"One more. Please? Because you love me?"

Kate sighed. "Fine. One more, but then I am switching off the light and I am going to sleep and you are going to keep your hands to yourself."

"No cuddling?"

"Fine. But your hands stay away from anywhere important."

"Deal."

"Okay. If you live to be a hundred, I hope to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you."

Castle fist pumped. "A.A. Milne! Full marks!"

"Not so fast, writer man. You got that one wrong. People think it's A. A. Milne, but it was actually Ernest H. Shephard. Common misconception. Surprised you got it wrong, considering words are supposed to be your speciality."

"Oh, words are misconcepted all the time." He says, as Kate turns off the light and plunges them into darkness.

"That's not even a word." Kate mumbled, turning over and throwing a leg over his. "You can't just make them up. That's unfair."

"I make words for a living. I'm allowed to." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, rested his free hand on her bare thigh. "Your thigh isn't any where important, right?"

"Eh, I'll let it slide."

"Good, cos I'm comfy."

"Sleep, Castle. Go to sleep."

There's a moment of silence, and he feels Kate relax against him, her breath soft and gentle against his collarbone. "Kate?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you, too."


	12. Chapter 12

**Spoilers for Hunt/Target etc etc**

* * *

_I love the way you love my daughter_

It's not the Castle she's expecting when Kate opens the door to Alexis. She's expecting Castle, eager after a busy day of case solving, preferably holding a bag of Chinese take away and bottle of his red wine, but instead it's Alexis, looking apprehensive and like she wants to run away.

"Alexis? I – are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah – I'm… can we talk? Unless my Dad's here, in which case I'll come back another time."

"No, he's not here. Not yet. But you can come in. He won't be here for a while." She steps sideways and lets the young adult past her, gestures towards the sofa and closes the door. "Do you want a cup of tea? Coffee?"

"Water. Water's fine."

"Alright, water." She crosses to the cupboards and pulls out a glass, fills it with water as she watches Alexis observe her surroundings. Of course, it's the first time that she's seen Kate's apartment, and Kate lets her settle into the space before approaching her. "So, what can I help you with?"

"Max says I wake up screaming," she blurts out, "it's not – we're not… you know, but ever since Paris he's been there at night on a camp bed, and he says I wake up screaming. I don't remember. I wake up in the morning and I'm fine but he's not. He's scared because he doesn't know what to do, and I know – I mean, not everything – just … stuff that Dad's mentioned in passing, and I know it's really not the same being shot, but how did you cope with it?"

"I – well, I was in therapy for months. It wasn't just about the shooting, there was a lot of… other stuff that I needed to work through, but I had a good support system. And you do too. You know your Dad will do anything for you, and it looks like Max is a keeper, and I'm here."

"What did you do about the nightmares? Did you have… I'm sorry, I don't mean to be… I'm not trying to be…"

"It's okay, Alexis," Kate smiled, "and usually, I'd go for a run. However, your father would rather have a heart attack than let me out on the streets of New York at two am in the morning."

"What do you do instead?"

"I – well, we…" Kate trailed off, looked away from Alexis looking suitably embarrassed. "I – don't think…"

"Oh! Oh, right." Alexis frowns down at her feet, and the silence is momentarily awkward. "I don't think… Max is…"

"There are other ways. Read a book, draw a picture. Sometimes I just run up and down those stairs if your Dad's not here. Dancing. Dancing helps. Get your headphones and plug in some music and just dance. It gets the blood pumping, and it wears you out and you'd be surprised how little you dream when you're bone tired."

"Does it get better? Even though your job means occasionally shooting people, and getting shot at and you're okay, right? You're not waking up screaming?"

"Not necessarily screaming, but I still have nightmares. Your dad has them too, though don't tell me I told you that. I don't think he wants you to worry about him."

Alexis laughed, curled her fingers around the cool glass. "I always worry about him. Ever since he started following you around I'm scared that you're going to knock on the door and tell me he's dead. And then he flies to Paris just so he can get me back, I mean, he scares me to death."

"I try to keep him safe. I handcuffed him to my car once, but the man had a key for them. I don't want him hurt or killed any more than you do, and if I thought I had any chance of getting away with it, I'd make sure he stayed in the precinct until I got back."

"Why don't you?"

"It's either out in the field or suffer the wrath of Gates. But Alexis, really, he knows not to do anything stupid. On occasions, yes he's reckless, but flying to Paris to rescue you? That's a father trying to protect his daughter. If it would have helped any, I would have gone with him in a heartbeat."

"I almost got him killed. He almost died-"

"Alexis, you cannot afford to think that way. You did not almost get your father killed. This is not how it works. You didn't ask to be kidnapped, did you?" Alexis shakes her head, almost bashfully, "And you didn't ask for Castle to fly half way around the world to save you. Whatever could have happened in that room, the blame is not on you. Your father knew what he was risking, and he wouldn't have blamed you. No one blames you."

"I still do."

"Well, your Dad doesn't. And I don't. And it does get better. If you want to arrange some therapy, I can recommend some people."

"Can you not tell Dad?"

"Alexis… I think this is something he should know. If you want me to talk to him about it then I can do, but I think it's best if it comes from you." There's a knock at the door, the sound of Castle complaining through the door. "Speaking of which."

"Kate, please – don't mention anything. Not yet."

"I won't. I won't, I promise." Kate squeezes her thigh reassuringly, stands up to get the door. "You want to stay for food? You know your Dad always orders far too much."

"No, no it's fine. I've got a class. I'll, er, leave you two alone."

"Kaaaaaaaate!" Castle whines, again. "Food's going cold! I am going cold! It is really very cold out here."

Kate pulls the door open with a standard eye roll. "You are far too impatient."

"Yes, and so are you. You were really very impatient that other day and I barely got in through the door before you were trying to get my jacket off. I mean, I'm not gonna lie, the front door is really one of my favourite spots, but-"

"Before you even think about continuing that sentence, I think you should know that your daughter is here."

Castle balks at her. "Alexis is here? Why is Alexis here? Alexis, why are you here?" He pushes past Kate, drops the bag of food on the counter and grabs Alexis by the shoulders. "Are you okay? You haven't witnessed a murder have you?"

"No, Dad, I'm fine. We were just talking. And I have a class, so I have to go."

"It's rather late for a class." Castle replies, narrowing his eyes at her.

"It's only for an hour. And Max is walking me to and fro. I'll be fine. Okay? I'll even call you when I'm back in the dorm." She pats him on the arm, and steps past him to reach her bag. "Enjoy your Chinese. And the wine." She smiles at Kate, embraces her in a quick hug. "Thanks, Kate."

"Anytime, Alexis."

* * *

"So, she's okay?"

Kate digs her bare toes into his thigh for what feels like the five hundredth time, jabs her chopsticks into her carton of chow mien. "She's fine, Castle. We were just talking about Paris."

"Paris? What about – Kate, what about Paris?"

"She told me not to tell you. And she's fine, Castle. Really, she is. If she came back from Paris completely unaffected, then she'd be incredibly lucky. And I told her to tell you, and she will. Just give her time to work things through, get her head around what she wants to do. And we'll both be here if she needs us, okay?"

"And Max-"

"Max is a blessing in disguise. She's going to be okay. And stop giving me those puppy dog eyes. I am not going to tell you."

"She's my daughter!"

"Castle, I know. Believe me, I know that she is your daughter. But she told me to not tell you, and I'm not going to tell you just because you look at me like that. It's not going to work. It is really not going to work."

"Kate-"

"If there was anything seriously wrong I would tell you. I would, Castle, I promise. But I have to respect your daughter's wishes to not tell you, at least for the time being. But you have to believe me that she's okay."

Castle huffs and puts his carton down, plucks Kate's from her hands and sets it next to his. "You're gonna have to distract me. A lot."


	13. Chapter 13

**MY KEVIN RYAN FEELINGS ARE ALL OVER THE PLACE NOTHING ABOUT THAT EPISODE WAS OKAY.**

* * *

_I love the way I smell like you_

_(four months ago)_

He catches the tang of cherries in the middle of the grocery store, standing there, like a buffoon in the middle of the cereal aisle. It's not like he doesn't know what he wants, because he does. Lucky Charms for him, muesli for Kate. But he almost turns around because he could almost believe that she is standing behind him, and if it weren't for the fact he got off the phone with her all of five minutes ago and that he knows very well that she's at the precinct trying to work out with masked party goer took a candlestick to Alice Murs's head (he was kicked out when he suggested Professor Plum) he would almost believe that she was there. It takes a while for him to work it out, but then he turns his head, scanning the shelves to see if there's anything that takes his fancy apart from the marshmallows and oats of his preferred choice, and there it is again. That unmistakeable smell of cherries. He'd recognise it anywhere, has spent years and months and days and many an hour in many a night with it assaulting his nostrils (he's not complaining), knows it like he knows the back of his hand. He snags the collar of his shirt between his forefinger and thumb and holds it up to his nose. Cherries. Hm. Definitely. He smells like cherries.

* * *

_(present day)_

He spends weeks after that trying to catch the elusive cherry smell again, and it earns him a few odd looks. Especially when Kate finds him rooting through her bathroom cupboards one day. He plays it off saying he wanted a shower, and didn't fancy smelling all girly (not that there's anything wrong with girly, of course) and was looking for something a little more masculine. Kate scoffs at him and drags him in the shower anyway, and he ends up smelling of lavender instead. It seems the lavender doesn't last long, he starts to notice subtle hints of vanilla and almonds. More sensual than cherries, more exotic. He's got to go looking for the source, like that spot behind her ear, almost hidden by her hairline, the one that makes her gasp when he presses his mouth against it. He'd been half day-dreaming about that spot in a meeting, dull and boring and Gina is waffling on about… something when the breeze from the fan had blown the almonds and the vanilla and just a tantalising hint of cherries that he thinks he must have made up across him. And then he's completely lost to tangled sheets and bare skin. At least until Gina delivers a swift kick to his shin and the watering of his eyes soon dispels any smells and all daydreams. Oh well. The real thing is at home waiting for him anyway.


	14. Chapter 14

**Ugh, I'm sorry. I really am. This is not… well, yeah. I don't know. HOW DO WORDS idk. It'll be better next week, I promise.**

**Disclaimer: somebody tell me how to make important life choices I have no idea**

* * *

_I love your motorbike_

He's trying not to scream. He's trying not to scream but it's an ever present thing at the back of his throat, waiting to just burst out the next time she does something completely ridiculous like twist the accelerator and speed through an intersection like they are aren't about to be mown down by an eighteen wheeler. Motorbike. She's taken him out on her motorbike. Shown up at his doorstep with leather _everything_, a helmet tucked under her arm and another dangling from her hand. He'd almost forgone the motorbike just to work out how in hell he'd get those damn leggings off, but he couldn't resist. How could he resist when it's her _motorbike_. She was right, though. He really wasn't sure he could handle the sight of her straddling it. In leather. Black, tight leather. Leather that is tight and black and black and tight – he should stop. Not the only things that are getting tight.

But now he's got his arms wrapped tight around her waist, his chin propped on her shoulder, watching the streets fly by like he's never seen them. She's a lot happier go lucky on the motorbike than she ever is in the crown vic, speeding on more than one occasion, jumping amber lights even though she should have stopped, weaving through traffic like she isn't leaving a wake of car horns behind her.

He has no idea where she's taking him, but he doesn't really care. She can go anywhere she likes with him. They've left the island of Manhattan behind, took a slightly roundabout route through Williamsburg where all he remembers is trying not to open his eyes and muttering _slow down_ over and over. He distinctly remember she laughed at that. Down through Brooklyn where at least she did slow down and he could half open his eyes, the Flatlands and Mill Bush pass by in a blur where he chooses to focus on the feeling of being pressed against Kate's back instead of the grey expanse of hard, grey rough tarmac that is inches away from his kneecaps. He remembers the last time he was like that only there was considerably less clothing involved and he wasn't trying to stay on a wobbly two wheeled metal contraption at the time. Hm. Maybe if he got his mouth on that spot on the back of her neck. Would she crash? Probably. Would it be worth it? Maybe. It might make her turn around and go back and he can spend all the time in the world just getting to know that one spot, teasing her and getting his own back for dragging him on the back of this death trap.

He recognises Jamaica Bay, can see Breezy Point in the distance and twists his head to the side to watch the Atlantic ocean glitter and sparkle in the spring sunshine. He's starting to realise why she likes this so much, the freedom of not being boxed in on all sides, the wind in your hair, that sense of _freedom_. The chance to be a little wild, to cut lanes and speed away laughing when some guy in a beat up sedan sticks his middle finger at you. It's crazy (she's crazy).


	15. Chapter 15

**Short and sweet.**

* * *

_I love the way you wake me up_

She wakes him up when she curls into his side in his bed. He definitely didn't go to bed with her last night. She said she needed at least one good night's sleep where she isn't woken up at some ungodly hour with his questing and mouth and his adventurous hands. And yet, here she is. At six o clock in the morning. And her hair is wet. Why is her hair wet?

"Kate, have you been walking around in a thunderstorm again?"

She huffs against his shoulder, is she half asleep? "I was in your shower."

"You… why were you in my shower?"

"Couldn't sleep," She mumbles, "ran here."

He splutters, and she whines when he tries to sit up. "You ran here?! Kate, that's like a bazillion blocks away."

"Streets were more or less empty. S'fine. Not like you're gonna kick me out of bed."

"That's not the point. You were in my shower without me."

"You sleep like a log, Castle. I could've been doing something completely lewd and salacious and you would have never woken up."

"I always wake up when you're being lewd and salacious. I have a well honed salaciousness radar."

Kate hums against his skin. "That's not how I see it, but whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Katherine Beckett, have you been doing lewd and salacious without me?"

"Like I said, you sleep like a log. And lewd and salacious bring me breakfast in bed."

"I bring you breakfast in bed!" Castle moans, closing his eyes. "This is so unfair."

"Mm, suck it up writer-man. I'm asleep."


	16. Chapter 16

**KT really should write RH but KT really can't make that chapter work. Like, at all. So, we shall see where it's going. I'm sorry updates have been slow recently. I've got a terrible sinus headache that refuses to go away and words don't seem to want to come out of my brain in anyway that is a tall pleasurable.**

**Disclaimer: how cute was The Fast and the Furriest I wanna cry**

* * *

_I love the way you love my books (part two)_

He doesn't know why it took him so long to notice. It's not like he didn't notice the long line of his books (every single one of his books, he might add) on her bookshelves the first time he ever had the opportunity to look around (Kate was asleep, he was bored), but he never really looked at them _properly_. And now it's early morning, and for once he's up before Kate. Warm mug of coffee in one hand, perusing her bookshelves for _something_ he can take back to bed with him. And then he spots it. A very tattered paperback version of In a Hail of Bullets. It's hiding behind some big hardback whose title he does not know. It's weird because he knows she has a hardback copy too, but then it all comes clear when he pulls it off the shelf with the tip of his finger. He remembers like it was yesterday, and he never imagined that it was her. It was Kate. After all this time, it was Kate.

* * *

"I spilt coffee on your book."

Kate turns over, one eye barely open against the morning light. She looks radiant, even with the sleep still crusty at the corner of her eyes, the crease along her cheek from the pillow. He's tempted to forget the book, at least until later, but Kate's already sitting up (though she did shuffle sideways so she's pressed against his side). "Alexis spilt coffee on my book." She says, reaching past him for his coffee. Normally, he'd be annoyed. His coffee. But he doesn't seem to mind with her.

"What?"

"It wasn't you. I was getting Storm Season signed, like you already know, but I had my paperback version of In a Hail of Bullets with me to read in the queue and a cup of coffee, and I got up to the table and I put my coffee and the book down on the table and then Alexis runs over and she trips over her own feet, and-"

"-she hits the table, your coffee goes flying and ruins the book. I apologise profusely and offer to buy you another coffee."

"The book isn't ruined, and I think you more than paid me back for the coffee."

"Why did you keep it? You've got a hardback copy, what was so special about this one?"

Kate raises an eyebrow at him. "Seriously? Why wouldn't I keep it? Just because the pages are brown and they don't sit right doesn't mean it needs throwing away. It's sentimental. Besides, how many people can say that Richard Castle's daughter spilt coffee on their book?"

He's silent for a few moments, flicks the pages of the book with his thumb. "It's weird. I sign hundreds of books, and I remember very few of them. And one of them happens to be you. Of all the people, in all the word… it's always you."


	17. Chapter 17

**Oh, because everyone loves KB's heels. Including me. I want them. All of them. And the rest of her wardrobe.**

* * *

_I love your dizzying array of heels (mostly)_

He's late, he knows. He said he'd meet her at the precinct when he got out of that party that he'd been invited to (no idea what or who's party it was for, he was just there to stop Paula murdering him) and he may or may not have been distracted by the really fantastic cake (he's never been able to say not to cake) and he may or may not be just a little bit drunk and he may or may not have been a few hours late. She laughed at him when he rang her from the town car, that laugh that he's pretty sure is just for him, and she understands. Of course she does. So he doesn't expect her that night. He imagines her passed out in her own bed, baggy shirt and tight (oh, so tight) pyjama shorts, sleeping like an angel in the way she does (not that he's ever going to tell her that). So he's not expecting to trip over a pair of shoes when he stumbles in through the front door. Huh. Heels. Not his. Definitely Kate.

He shucks off his jacket and his shirt and he toes off his shoes in some direction he's not particularly bothered in, wriggles out of his trousers and collapses onto the bed stomach first. Kate's a solid lump in his bed, surprised he hasn't woke her up. Lightest sleeper ever. But she's here in his bed, and she came to the loft to sleep even though he wasn't even there. It makes him grin. And she leaves her shoes around his loft like she lives here. That's kind of cute.

"Are you drunk?"

He lifts his head up, but Kate hasn't even shifted. "Maybe. A little bit. Probably."

There's a stifled laugh and she turns over, her head propped up on an elbow. "Are you going to come to bed?" He would if he could move. Which he seems to be incapable of. Slight issue.

* * *

"Shoes… shoes, I need shoes." He's muttering to himself, doesn't really care, it's not like anyone can hear him when he's got his head in the back of his closet. "I have no shoes."

He sticks his hands out into the darkness (there has to be shoes somewhere), finds the sole of a shoe (success!) but then that's more of a heel than he has ever had on any of his shoes. That's a Kate Beckett kind of heel. Her heels are in his closet? Hm. Didn't know that. He pushes them aside, finds another long, long heel. How many heels does she have stored in here? He shuffles back out, dusts off his trousers and goes out to find the culprit.

"Kaaaate?" She's sat at the kitchen counter flicking through this morning's newspaper. "What have you done with my shoes?"

"What?"

"My closet is full of your heels. And not my shoes. Where are my shoes?"

"I just moved them up a bit to make some more space. They're not exactly hidden."

"Yeah, but why are your heels in my closet. I mean, I can understand like a couple of pairs but there's like fifty."

"I don't have fifty pairs of heels. And there's only like five. And they're there for emergencies. You've got your drawer at my place, therefore I have a place for my heels in your closet." She offers him a slight smile. "I can move them, if you want."

He grins back at her, and shakes his head. His and her shoes. So utterly domestic.

* * *

He turns around to find Kate looking at the back of his thighs. Or she can pretend she's looking at the back of his thighs, he knows she's looking somewhere definitely north of there. He raises his eyebrows at her and she tilts her head at him, twirls her finger around to make him turn around. "How did you get bruises on the back of your thighs?"

He twists his head around trying to see, but of course it's impossible. "What do you mean?"

"You've got… identical bruises on the back of your legs. What the hell were you doing?"

"You mean what you were doing?" She raises her own eyebrow at him, absolutely no idea what he's talking about. "Two days ago. Dinner party at the Ryan's. You were wearing stiletto's and that little black dress that was seriously inappropriate because then you kept doing very inappropriate things in the taxi, and then when we got back to yours and you didn't take them off."

There's a slight twinkle in Kate's eyes as she remembers (it looks like she's planning on doing it again. Right now. Sometime soon. It sends a shiver down his spine.). "You didn't let me take them off. You were really impatient."


	18. Chapter 18

**Short (oops) but I'm recovering from a cold and being ill and blah, so yeah. M rated-ish.**

* * *

_I love the way your fingers grasp my sheets_

He doesn't think he's ever going to get used to it. To this. To the way her knuckles blanch as she clutches at the sheets, and she's ripped holes in more than one. If he gets to do this every day of his life he's not going to ask for anything else. He's completely entranced by the way her breath hitches in her throat when he runs his fingers over that spot on her hip, or the way her head tips backwards when he twists his fingers just like that. Her hair is a dark stain against the pillows, curling against her skin like flower petals and he can't help but tangle his fingers in it. Still smells like cherries.

She's quieter on nights like this. When it's just the two of them, surrounded by the night, soft breaths and warm skin. If he upped the pace a bit, if he twisted his hips, pushed a little harder, he could pull those delicious moans out of her throat, feel it reverberate through his skin. She'd open her eyes, look at him with those dark, dark pupils, sink her teeth into that bottom lip and smirk at him because she knows what she does to him. She could roll them, take charge, make him completely boneless. And as much as he loves that, as much as he loves her vocals and her passion and her sheer stubbornness to be in charge of everything, he maybe loves this a bit more.

She whispers in his ear sometime. Words that she doesn't say all that often, but she doesn't need to. She shows him in actions, rather than words. The way she sighs when she falls, eyes closed, throat tight. Fingers in the sheets like it's the only thing holding her down. Lets him take this from her, pure and unbridled and uninhibited.


	19. Chapter 19

**I'm so tired and I don't know how to words, so. I'm sorry this isn't much, I've just not had the motivation to do anything except stare at a word document and wait for things to write themselves. So far, no luck.**

**Disclaimer: job interview on Tuesday welp**

* * *

_I love you when you're drunk._

_(Tipsy, Castle. I was tipsy)_

He tries not to pout when she says she's going back to her apartment without him. He tries not to pout because he knows her and Lanie have been trying to organise a girls night in for months, but something's always come up. Either him, or Esposito, a lot of the time it's a murder. Except not this time. This time, there's no case, and Esposito, Ryan and himself are having a lads night. And he's completely distracted by bottles of beer and football games to even think about the fact that Lanie and Kate are probably discussing all things him, good and bad. It doesn't last almost half as long as Kate's night will, and he's home again and bored and lonely before it's even hit midnight. Ugh. He's too wired to sleep, he's feeling far too lazy to even write. He probably should sleep. Try to sleep. Maybe he'll fall asleep with Netflix on his iPad.

Or maybe he'll answer his phone. Yeah, definitely answer his phone.

"Kate. Hi."

"Come over."

"What?"

"Get on the subway, or in a cab and come over."

"Say please."

"_Castle._" She's growling at him, and he loves it because he knows what she wants. She's just as wired as he is, probably more drunk than he is too. And if he's not mistaken, she's not asking him over to drink more wine.

"Yes, Beckett?"

"I am currently in my bed wearing absolutely nothing, and I've had wine, and I'm feeling adventurous and I am horny, and I swear to god if you are not out of your front door in ten minutes I'm going to have to resort to desperate measures, and I don't want desperate. I'm not desperate."

"You are so desperate. You are very, very desperate." He's already tugging his shoes towards him, so very glad that he has something (someone) to do. They can both work the alcohol out of their system, repeatedly, and sleep the rest off. "I love you when you're drunk, you know that don't you?"

"Not drunk, Castle. Tipsy." Why is she always so adamant about that? He knows that when he turns up at her door, her cheeks will be flushed, her eyes bright, and she'll be giggly. And Kate Beckett doesn't giggle, not unless she's drunk. And while she's never fallen over, there's a certain uncertainness to her movements, they're not so calculated. More free, less precise. And she walks into walls, he's noticed. Oh, but drunk sex is fun. He's not going to deny either of them that.


	20. Chapter 20

**As a European, I am fully embracing the Eurovision craze that is sweeping the country again. I LOVE THE WACKY AND THE CRAZY (and the rapping astronauts are A+ no word of a lie). Alas, I am not as cool as the Devers, and cannot have a Eurovision party because if I so much as suggested it my mother would have me carted off to an institution. So, to make up for it, CASKETT EUROVISION PARTY. With just them. And popcorn. **

**Mm, popcorn.**

**Disclaimer: do you know what I would give to have a Eurovision party with the Devers DO YOU KNOW WHAT I WOULD GIVE**

* * *

_I love the way you love European song contests _

Honestly, he can't say that he isn't surprised. I mean he's never been one for the ridiculous singing contest, though he has watched it with Alexis on occasions when they wanted a laugh or when they had nothing better to do, sat on the sofa with ice cream and snacks, laughing at just how _ridiculous_ the whole thing is, but he's never purposefully set aside time to actually _watch_ it. Except, today, he walks into Kate's apartment and there's popcorn and wine and the place is filled with cheesy music and crazy costumes and people prancing about on stage. Hm. Okay.

"Of all the things I expected, this was not one of them."

"Oh, come on." She defends, narrowing her eyes at him. "You can't tell me that you have never had a Eurovision party. Everybody has a Eurovision party at least once in their life."

"Oh no, I fully expect me to have Eurovision parties, I just never expected _you_ to be one of those people."

Kate shrugs, doesn't even care to defend her choices, sticks her hand in the bowl of popcorn and throws a handful of it in her mouth. "It's fun, and wacky. And I'd hardly call this a party. It's me and a bowl of popcorn."

"You've got me now."

Kate snorts, throws a cushion away so he can sit next to her, his hand already taking a giant handful of corn. "Right, and you are the life and the soul of any party. Sure, keep telling yourself that."

"I make every day a party." He grins at her, along with a waggle of his eyebrows.

* * *

"One shoe called luck, the other called pain? What kind of translation is that?" He frowns at the TV in confusion, his top lip curled up and his brow furrowed.

"A bad one. Stop being so critical. It's not supposed to be serious."

"Well of course it's not supposed to be serious. It's Europe. When are they ever serious?" He's digging around in the bowl for more popcorn, frowning when he can't find any. "We've got no popcorn."

Kate doesn't deign him an answer, just rolls her eyes at him and snatches the bowl away from his greedy hands and hauls herself up from the couch. "So go on, who's your favourite."

"Rapping astronauts."

"They aren't in the final."

"And it wounds me. Seriously. Rapping astronauts. Who doesn't love rapping astronauts."

"Europe, apparently. Come on, it was a bit ridiculous. There were far better acts. Like Russia, and Moldova. Ireland. And Bonnie Tyler."

"Yeah, but Montenegro captured the heart of Eurovision. Craziness. It's not Eurovision without something completely and utterly _ridiculous_. Like that rock band. That was just… weird. Europe is weird."

"Don't go saying that when you're over there doing a book tour."

"Oh, they don't mind. Europe embrace their wackiness. If they didn't, then Eurovision would not be a thing. Or it would, it would just be boring and dull and nobody would watch."

Kate returns to the couch, passes the now full again bowl back to Castle. "But, out of the finalists, who would you put your money on?"

"Well, if you were going by actual talent, and if it was actually judged on talent… then I'd have to go with the UK. It's Bonnie Tyler, come on. She's the queen of rock. But, unfortunately, it's all political these days, so… Denmark. Pretty girl, big ballad. Plus, she's got that big sparkly shower thing. Everybody loves a big sparkly shower thing."

"But does everyone love Denmark?"

"Big sparkly shower thing, Kate. It's a deal clincher. Denmark, for sure."

"Alright, I'll bet you one home cooked meal. If Denmark doesn't win, you cook me dinner. If Denmark does win, I'll cook."

"That's hardly fair. You've got a twenty five out of twenty six chance of winning here."

"Take it or leave it. If you really believe in your big sparkly shower, then put your money where your mouth is."

He's glaring at her because really he doesn't hold that much faith in the big sparkly shower, but then he's shaking her hand and she's smirking at him. Oh, man. He's gonna lose. So badly. And it's going to be humiliating.


	21. Chapter 21

**OOH you get two new chapters this week cos I've been away. AREN'T YOU GUYS LUCKY. Based very loosely (very, very loosely) on Olly Murs' song _Busy_. It was originally a lot different to this, but I didn't like it and deleted it all.**

**oh no**

**I'm having a problem where all my fics end where they go off and have sex I should stop.**

**whatever.**

**Disclaimer: I MET AND HUGGED ELLIE (closingdoors/satan) ON THURSDAY AND I AM STILL NOT OVER IT.**

* * *

_I love the days we spend doing nothing (mostly)_

"That one looks like a crocodile."

Castle tilts his head to the side, squinting at the cloud Kate is pointing to. "Looks more like an alligator."

Kate huffs, though he can tell from the slight twitch of her mouth that she's not annoyed. She finds him hilarious really. Most of the time. Almost all of the time. Sort of. Ish. "I'd roll my eyes, but I don't have the energy."

"Well, that one's definitely a witch."

Kate turns her head to the side, follows Castle's finger with her eyes. "Sure, if it's a witch flying upside down on a vacuum with a cactus growing out of her head, then yes, it's a witch."

"What would you call it then?"

"A witch flying upside down on a vacuum with a cactus growing out of her head."

"Oh, ha ha. You're hilarious."

"Thank you, I'll be here all week." Kate tilts her head back and points to a cloud that's hovering just behind her head. "That's a slightly wonky pentagon. Half pentagon, half hexagon."

"Is that even possible?"

"Pexagon. I just made it possible."

"That one looks like a penis."

"Castle!"

"What? It does. If you tilt your head backwards and squint your left eye-"

"-and put your right leg out and shake it all about."

"You never said we had to be _serious_ about it. I mean, I've seen five thousand sheep but I have refrained from pointing them out. But really, Kate. How many times do you see a penis shaped cloud?"

"Honestly? I don't know. I've never looked for penis shaped clouds."

"You should do it more often. It's a great way to spend the day."

"I can spend of better ways to spend a day off."

"Do they involve penis shaped clouds?" He's waggling his eyebrows in that way he has, because he knows what she's hinting at, knows that their day of lounging about on her roof cloud spotting has come to an end in favour of… other slightly more energetic activites.

"Penis shaped something. But, if you're more interesting in fluffy white things then by all means stay up here and look at clouds. I will be busy… doing something else."


	22. Chapter 22

**And the chapter for this week, as promised. This is version 438957398457 of this chapter. I just could not decide on an idea. BUT FINALLY finally, I am happy. Good.**

* * *

_I love your dizzying collection of body hugging, ass clinging dresses._

Short. Navy blue. Very short, actually. Revealing a lot of leg, and a lot of skin that he is just so very desperate to touch. And he could, if he wanted. How many times has he had those legs wrapped around his waist, draped over his shoulders, watched as they sauntered away from him with a slightly exaggerated waggle of hips? Except, they're on a stake out. Sort of. Information gathering. Ryan and Esposito are staking out. Kate and he are… doing some form of dance that involves her being too close to certain parts of him that allow him to be entirely… comfortable. Not that he's complaining, not at all. No man in any right mind would complain when Kate Beckett, goddess of seduction and fuck-me-eyes and a bedroom voice that makes your eyes roll into the back of your skull, has her ass pressed against their crotch. Only, it really is kind of uncomfortable. Tight jeans are really not that pleasant and he wants to get out of here so he can get her in a private room and peel off that dress and instead wrap her up in bed sheets. But obviously, they're working. And supposed to (supposed to being the operative word) being completely and utterly one hundred percent professional. Professional his ass. Or rather, her ass. And they can't leave. Not until they've finished. The job, that is. Oh, this night is going to be long. Too long.

And Kate knows exactly what she's doing. Damn minx. And he wants to back her into a secluded corner because if he can't at least get her naked then he at least just needs to feel his mouth on hers, her hands in his hair or trying to fight their way under his many clothes (cold, it's cold outside) so she can find skin. Oh, her skin. All warm and silky smooth and she tastes like vanilla frosting. Apart from where he aches to be, where it's a rich, warm chocolate and a dark fruity wine. Addicting. The taste and the smell of her, it's like… he's completely hooked. And he just wants to kiss her.

Of course, as all stake outs come information gathering missions usually do when he's around, this one goes arse over apex. And the guy, tall and dark and annoyingly good looking, has had his eyes on Kate all evening. And of course, he has to come over. All dark eyes and long eyelashes and oh, but that's suspicious. And as usual, he stumbles and fumbles and Kate has to man handle him off the dance floor and into a –thankfully- shady area of the club. She wastes no time in getting her hands on his collar and pulling, effectively pinning herself to the wall with his body. He hikes her leg up to his hip (authenticity and all that), can't help but dip the tips of his fingers under the hem. And she bites on his lip. Hard.

* * *

Later, when they're back at the precinct and about to head home and Kate hasn't got changed. Which is strange because she always gets changed, never walks around the bullpen in clothes _that_ revealing if she doesn't have to. Only then, she bends over the back of his chair when he's not expecting it, and he's hit by the scent of cherries and dry ice and just the slightest whiff of the shot of whiskey she'd slammed back at the bar.

"You ready to go home?"

"I – um, yes." He stammers, though he's not quite sure how he gets the words out because his throat is so very tight. "Home. Good."

"Cat got your tongue, Castle?" She's smirking at him from behind her curtain of hair, those fuck-me-eyes and the bedroom voice taunting him from mere inches away.

"No, I'm good. Aren't you getting changed?"

"Changed? Why? There's no point. You're just going to take it all off me again."

"I- Well. That's… if…"

She's laughing as she walks away, and he watches, just for a few moments, the swing of her hair against her back, the length of her spine, oh, the sway of her backside. And then he's following her, catching her up just as the elevator doors open on a mercifully empty lift. He crowds her in, his hands on her hips until she's against the back wall. Kate turns around so she can face him. And her eyes are dark, so dark, framed by heavy liner and mascara, her pupils drowning out the hazel of her iris's.

"You're a tease." He whispers, leaning forward so he can claim her mouth.

She gives as good as she gets, put pushes him away after a moment, lifts her leg in a move that should be illegal in every country in the world and hits the button for the garage. "You love it."


	23. Chapter 23

**This originally wasn't going to be smut. IT REALLY WASN'T, but y'can all blame Bee (seilleanmor) for the last bit. All her idea. So yeah, definite M rated FORWARNING.**

**This would have been up yesterday, only it wouldn't let me update. **

**Disclaimer: sometimes I just write disclaimers so I can say my word count is higher**

* * *

_I love the way you fidget_

Castle knew that Kate wiggled her toes in her sleep. He had done from the first night when he'd woken at some point to something tickling the back of his calf. He'd not been altogether there, still half asleep and still in a post-coital blur and had barely registered the fact that Kate's toes are wiggling against his skin before he was fast asleep again. But now, a year and a bit later, he's used to it. Sometimes it wakes him up, sometimes it doesn't, sometimes he purposefully lays awake in the dark just to feel her move.

There's times, when they're both curled up on the sofa, squished up together even though there's plenty of room to stretch out, and they're both buried in their books and he'll feel light, dextrous fingers curl around the shell of his ear, stroking and pulling, moving down to his earlobe. Or fingers on his neck, pushing at the tension spots that she knows are there from hours hunched over a laptop or a book or a conference table. Fingers in his hair, stroking up to his crown and back down again. It tickles, on occasions, and he's still not sure why she does it.

And then there's the times when he's being purposefully slow, taking his time to actually untie his shoes, pulls off his socks. Sometimes he'll put his clothes in the hamper, sometimes he'll fold them or hang them back up. And all the time, Kate's getting frustrated and impatient. Lying there on his or her bed, glaring at him from dark eyes, hips moving impatiently against the covers. Sometimes that's all she'll do. Not a lot of the time, but sometimes. Other times she'll force herself up off the bed and forcibly rip the clothes from his body, hissing and growling and calling him all kinds of names that shouldn't do it for him, but they kinda do. Most of the time, especially when she knows he's looking, she'll start without him. Fingers tracing and pulling and pinching at her breast, sometimes lace covered, sometime not. He'll stop and let her tease him and or herself, wait her out until she just simply _can't_ not move.

One hand clenched in the sheets, the over moving down towards the elastic of her underwear. Her pelvis doing this long, fluid, mouth-watering dance that his own hips want to copy. She usually rests there, wiggling her fingers against her skin. Some feeling, but not a lot. Just to see what he's going to do. He's going to stand there and watch. Because as much as he loves having his mouth or his hand or his cock where her fingers are now… there's something about watching her pleasure herself that makes him almost lose it. The number of times she's been in her bed, with her head tossed back and her knuckles white, dreaming and imagining that it's him that has three fingers so far inside her it feels like he's a part of her, that it's his tongue that's curling around her clit and sucking and making her scream, his blue eyes that hover over her when her walls clench around him, leaving her aching and breathless.


	24. Chapter 24

**This chapter started off as something completely different. And then changed to something else. And then changed again. Hm. Indecisive, that's me.**

**Disclaimer: is it September yet I'm getting anxious**

* * *

_I love early mornings (really)_

* * *

The sun hasn't even left the horizon before Kate's phone is ringing, interrupting his dream of just how many marshmallows can you give a dog before he throws up? He used to be such a heavy sleeper before. Before Kate, and murder scenes and stake outs, he'd have slept through every phone call until he actually woke up. But now, now he can't help but wake up.

"Kaaaate." He whines, turning over onto her side of the bed, though what he's trying to achieve from that, he's not quite sure. It's not like they can even do anything in the time it takes for her to take an address, get up and ready. Unless, of course, they share a shower. And even then, it's not enough. It's never enough, because he wants to have her in the shower, hot and wet and soapy, and then again in the bed, on the bed, warm and dry and slow. And he can almost imagine it, but the phone is still going off. Damn thing. "Kate, phone."

She's already stirring and trying to elbow him away as she reaches for the offending piece of technology. She thumps her head back down onto the pillow, phone pressed to her ear, eyes closed. "Beckett."

She slaps his hand away when he tries to get closer to her (he's not trying to cop a feel, not _really_) and then she's shifting, pushing the covers away and sitting up. The sleeve of her shirt has slipped down her shoulder and he raises an arm to pull it back into place. She turns her head and smiles at him, soft and shy and sleep ruffled. "You can go back to sleep, if you want. It is early."

He's tempted. He's beyond tempted because his bed is so sinfully comfy with it's million thread count sheets (or close enough, anyway) and the pillow that smells more like her with every passing night (when did they last spend a night at her place?) and just the knowledge that he can just roll over in his bundle of blankets and wait until it's a decent hour before going in and helping. But, he can't. Someone's got to be there to provide humour, to drive Esposito and Beckett mad with his endless crazy theories, and he's got to make coffee. Kate will never get through the day without coffee, and they both know as well as each other that she can't make her own. Not properly. She says it doesn't like her. He tells her it can sense fear.

So he hauls himself up with a yawn, stretches his arms above him, feeling the muscles and his joints come alive.

Shower first.

Then coffee.


	25. Chapter 25

**I am sorry. I've recently started a new job and trying to write when all you want to do is collapse in bed is hard. So yeah, things may be a bit slow around here for the next couple of weeks while I get used to things.**

**This is going to be a kind of set of three? Maybe? Might just be two, I'm not sure, so if it doesn't have a proper "ending" it will be tied up somewhere along the lines.**

* * *

_I love the way you wear pineapples_

"It is _not_ funny." Castle breaths in hard, trying to reign in the laughter that's threatening to spill out of his mouth again. "Castle, seriously."

"I – I'm sorry. I just never imagined you had such a… vivid pair of pyjamas."

"It's the only pair I could find – seriously, Castle. They're just pineapples."

He shakes his head and turns away with the back of his hand against his mouth. Honestly? He has no idea why he finds the fact that she is wearing bright blue cotton pyjamas embroidered with yellow and green pineapples so hilarious. Is it in relation to Nikki and Rook? Is it just because she's usually so serious, and here she is walking out of her bathroom _wearing_ them?

"The only ones you could find? Kate, I think you have as many pyjamas shorts and pants as you have shoes. How can you only find _them?_"

"I don't know." Kate's got her hands on her hips, staring at him with a hard set to her jaw. "Are you actually going to get ready for bed or are you just going to stand around staring at my legs all night?"

"Well, if you put it that way." He can't be bothered to actually change, so he just pulls off his jumper and jeans and falls into bed in his t-shirt and boxers. "You know, you don't have to wear the pineapple pyjama pants." He says once he's under the covers and rolled over on to one side. "You could always take them off."

Kate rolls her head sideways to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Could I?"

He smirks and reaches over to trace a finger along the elastic waistband, her skin soft and pliant under his hand, not missing the slight flutter of her eyelashes, the slight dilation of her pupils. "Yes, yes you really could."

* * *

He knows full well why she has no pyjama shorts left in her own apartment. How long has it been since they last went back to her place? The only reason they went back to Kate's the other day is because Alexis and Martha were both pottering about the Loft and they'd wanted some privacy, but now when he's back there and Kate's at work, he glances through his laundry basket. There's about three pairs of sleep shorts in there (definitely not his), about five stuffed in her drawer (along with numerous shirts, and there's trousers hung up next to his in the closet, and when he takes the washing out of the dryer there's two pairs of longer pyjamas bundled up around one of her big warm hoodies. He hadn't even noticed the steadily growing amount of clothes that she's left here. But here they are, slowly taking over his closet space like some giant monster. It's not just his closet space she's invading, either. He's found books on his shelves that he's not aware of having bought, finds them wedged in between his hardbacks. And he knows they're Kate's because they're paperbacks, the pages torn and bent and weathered from years of reading. She says it's because they're easier to read in the bath, has whined more than once about how cumbersome his own collection of novels are. Personally, he likes the robustness of the hard backs, the solid weight in his hands. But she can take over his closet and his bookshelves if she wants to. He finds he doesn't at all mind.


	26. Chapter 26

**It'll make sense, I promise!**

* * *

_I love the relationship you have with my mother_

"Richard, darling!" His mother waltzes into his office with her usual charm and sophistication and clash of colours. "Richard, I'm off out."

"Doing anything interesting?" He looks up from his laptop (he is writing, he promises. Watching cat videos on the Internet is research. Honestly) and raises an eyebrow at her.

"I am going for coffee and shopping. With a friend."

"Oh, anyone I know?"

"Just me and Katherine, that's all. We're having a girly day out." She replies, with a grin that makes him think she knows exactly what that piece of information will do to him.

"You – why are you two having a girly day out? Kate doesn't do girly days out. She does late nights with bottles of wine. I mean – if you want to have a late night with a bottle of wine with Kate then I'm not going to say no, but…"

"Well, today we are having a girly day out. And you need to write."

"But-"

"Richard, stop panicking. We are just having a nice day, just the two of us. We'll be back before you know it." She's waving her hand and leaving in much the same style as she came in before he can even reply. He stares at her retreating figure with a look of mild panic. "Goodbye, Richard!"

* * *

"Kate." He greets her as soon as she comes in through the door. His mother disappears upstairs with a wink and a wave, shopping bags in hand.

"Hello, Castle."

"Don't hello me, not when you out with my mother today and you probably talked about me and everything and what did you talk about? Was it good? I mean if you want to talk about me then that's fine, I don't mind if you talk about me… okay, I kind of do mind if you talk about me…"

"Castle-"

"-I mean it's good that you're spending time with my mother. It's hard to spend time with my mother, she's just so very… my mother, and-"

"Castle…"

"I appreciate it, I do, you finding time to spend time with my family. Even though you're my family too. You know that, right?"

Kate thumps his arm and he shuts his mouth hurriedly, staring at her with that big wounded puppy expression that he's been so very good at. "Castle, we weren't talking about you. We were just two adults having a day in the city. Stop thinking of the worst."

"Yeah, but you must have been talking about _something_."

"We were. We were talking about ourselves. Not everything is about you, you know."

"Yes but when two of my three favourite females spend the day together then I am automatically going to assume the worst."

"Castle, honestly. We were just talking about us. You may have come up in passing, but that's it." She dumps her bags on the sofa and he's itching to rifle through them and see what she's bought, but she's already moving into the kitchen and he has to follow. He crowds her against the counter, hands either sides of her hips, mouth bending to attack the skin at the curve of her neck. She lets him get away with it, for a couple of seconds but then she's pushing him aside "And you're not seducing it out of me."


	27. Chapter 27

**So this is last weeks update. Things have gotten away from me recently, and after everything last week I was a little apprehensive about writing. So yes. Anyway. There'll be another chapter this week, just to make up for things.**

* * *

_I love your dumb ideas_

"Kate, are you sure about this?"

She glances back over her shoulder at him, the look she's sending back to him one that he's more used to seeing in a rebelious teenager than a thirty something year old homicide detective.

He still can't believe he's actually let her talk him into this. He's all for daring shows of bravery and disobeying orders for the fun of it, for making jokes about things that are not supposed to be funny, but this is bordering on insane. It's not that it's dangerous, it is possibly one of the least dangerous things they could be doing right now.

But they're viewing a house together. Him and Kate. Kate and him.

A house.

* * *

"I used to do this all the time, a few years ago. Me and Lanie would pretend we were a couple and looking for our first place together."

She's looking at the window of the realtor's window. "What do you think? House or apartment? "

"You and Lanie?! "

Kate gives him a wicked grin, and taps the window. "That one, I think." and then she's gone, tapping in a number on her phone and leaving him to gape at the six bedroomed, ten acred mansion that she'd chosen.

What the hell is she playing at?

* * *

The realtor is a wise old chap who seems more excited about the fact that he's showing the house (if they could even call it that, the place seems comparable to the White House) to Richard Castle and his beau (at which Kate snorted, and decided that she liked the guy already) than he was about the fact he could finally possibly get rid of the house that had been hanging over his head for the past two years. And Castle feels horrible for this because he knows Kate is really only doing it for some weird laugh, and it's not that he doesn't understand the appeal behind it but he just hates that they're leading this guy on. Kate is asking him all sorts of crazy questions, like if the dining room is big enough to play roller hockey, and does he know if it is possible to slide down the stairs on a mattress and not crash into anything, or can you get from one side of the house to other without touching the floor?

Colin takes it all in his stride and answers all of her questions in the best way that he could. But all the time, he's there thinking that they're going to have to tell him that they were only ever looking.

* * *

"Kate?"

She's examining the view from the master bedroom window, lost in her own world when she turns towards him. "This place is amazing."

"Yeah, it is. Though I still don't get why we're here."

"It's just... a bit of fun. I'd never be able to afford this on a cops salary, no matter how much I saved up, but being able to pretend just for a bit..."

"You're dating a millionaire. If you wanted a house all you had to do is ask."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I feel horrible. About Colin, I mean. He's been nothing but nice, and he's answered all of your ridiculous questions, and I could actually buy this house. I can afford it, no problem. And we're just going to tell him no. He's been wanting to sell this house for years, Kate."

She chews on her lip thoughtfully, turning back to the window. "What are you saying?"

"What I'm saying is... when Alexis was younger, I wanted to give her everything. To an extent. And if I could I would have given her this house. Ten acres, Kate. And we're really not that far from Manhattan. You'd be hard pressed find this anywhere else in the city."

She turns to him again, so many questions in her expression. "Your point?"

He sighs, and looks at her looking at him, so many unsaid things passing between them. "I want... space."

He sees the uncertainty flicker in her eyes, the confused set of her jaw. "Space?"

"Not that kind of space. I mean, this kind of space. I want..."

"Space."

"Yeah." he finishes lamely.

They lock eyes for a few seconds, neither willing to break the silence, until...

"Okay," she says, "let's go."

"Go?'

"Yeah. Let's go buy a house."


	28. Chapter 28

**Aaaand we are up to date!**

**Disclaimer: I had to be at work at six o clock this morning. If I owned Castle, I really don't think I'd have to set an alarm for 5am.**

* * *

_I love your awesome ideas too, even if they don't come to fruition._

"You… bought a house?!" Martha seems far too shocked and appalled at his and Kate's announcement, and is staring at them with complete bewilderment. "But…"

"Well, we didn't exactly plan on going out and buying a house," Castle explains, handing her the brochure that the estate agent had given them, "I wouldn't even call it a house. It's more like a mansion. It was Kate's idea to go there. I still don't quite understand her reasoning behind but, it seemed to amuse her all the same. And anyway, I felt horrible for leading on the estate agent because he was all excited and thought we were going to buy it. And I fell in love. It's such an amazing house. Puts the Hamptons to shame, in some ways."

Martha flicks through the brochure, eyes wide as she takes it all in. "Katherine's idea? Are you sure, Richard?"

"It was." Kate confirms, patting Castle's arm reassuringly. "It was just something Lanie and I used to do a few years ago, and thought Castle might enjoy it too. I just didn't think he would have such a visceral reaction to the place."

"So you bought it?"

"I – well, it was such a nice house and it was huge and it was perfect and-"

"Perfect?"

"Yes. The grounds, mother. You should have seen them, they were ten acres, at least."

"What on earth would you want ten acres of ground for?"

"Can you imagine just how epic games of laser tag would be? And the water fights, and hide and seek and all the exploring we could do."

"We being… you and Katherine?"

"I – well, we…" he scratches his neck, while Kate is determined to look anywhere except at Martha, and has suddenly taken a vast interest in the ceiling, "we were just… thinking."

There's a knowing glint in Martha's eye, just like she full well knows what that thinking entails. "Thinking? I'll leave you to your thinking, but Katherine, dear, your apartment?"

"I, oh, it's still yours. If you still want it, I mean. I don't know if you'd still want it considering this place will be empty, sooner or later."

Castle twists his head from Martha to Kate and back again. "What do you mean, if you still want it?"

"Me and Katherine have been talking. I've been living here for a while, and while I have been eternally grateful for it, I can't stay here forever. And if you and Katherine have been… thinking, then you're not going to want an old lady like me around taking up space. So, I am going to move into her apartment."

"But… there's only one bedroom. I mean, I'm really rather fond of you both, but my mother sharing a place with my girlfriend? I have to draw the line."

"Castle…" Kate sighs, pressing the palm of her hand into her forehead. "We're not… we're not sharing an apartment. We just bought a house, if you'd completely forgotten."

"No… no, I hadn't forgotten."

"Castle, when was the last time I was at my apartment?"

"Um…"

"Exactly. The majority of my clothes are here, and the ones at my apartment I barely wear anymore. I thought it was about time we just accepted the inevitable and I changed my address. But then I never even thought about you falling in love with the house. And it's an amazing house, it's really something, and it's perfect for thinking. And it's not so far from Alexis, but whether Martha and her want to stay here as a base, or something, I don't know, but if Martha wants my apartment then she's more than welcome to it. Or Alexis, even. If she wants it for after college, or somewhere to live after this year."

"You were going to move in with me?"

"I practically already have, but yes. I was going to tell you when we had everything figured out."

"But we bought a house instead." He laughs, suddenly, causing Kate to startle next to him. "We actually bought a house."


	29. Chapter 29

**I watched Up for the majority of the time it took to write this, and I think I cried for most of it. Soppy idiot.**

**We've never seen anything about KB's family, immediate or extended or otherwise, so I thought I'd put my two pennies worth in. And we've all got one of those Aunt's, don't we?**

* * *

_I even love your ridiculous and crazy family gatherings_

"So, Mr. Castle. When exactly are you planning on making an honest woman of our Katherine?"

He'd been warned about Kate's great aunt Deborah on the way over, had been with regaled with many a story about Kate's childhood and the quite frankly terrifying Christmas visits. Of course, he'd thought that Kate was just simply over-exaggerating, as anybody is want to do when it comes to explaining about the less than savoury members of their extended family. He wasn't expecting this level of interrogation almost five minutes after he's stepped through the door.

"I, um, well, we're not… rushing things."

"Well, from what I hear you're already quite good at the rushing things. I hear from Jim that you've recently bought a house together. Not even a small apartment, but a ridiculously priced, over sized and gaudy thing with more space than I could possibly shake a stick at. Now what would a young…ish couple like the two of you want with a place like that, hm? All I'm saying, if you're planning on buying a house like _that_ then there must be a reason. A pretty obvious reason. And she should be an honest woman first. No good ever came from being unwed parents."

"It's the twenty first century, Aunt Deb." Kate interrupts, pressing a kiss to her cheek, "things are a lot different now."

"Aunt Deborah, Katherine. I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, really, Johanna, bless her soul, should have taught you differently."

Kate rolls her eyes in Castle's direction and then proceeds to pull him away towards the various other members of her family. Cousins and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews, and for the time being Aunt Deborah's question is forgotten.

* * *

"You know, I still have the tiara from when I married your great uncle Graham, Katherine. It would look absolutely gorgeous on you, dear, if you'd only sort your hair out, let your natural colour come back through. Oh, you did look beautiful as a brunette."

"She looks beautiful whatever her hair colour." Castle defends, narrowing his eyes in Deborah's direction. "And I don't appreciate you insinuating otherwise."

The whole table grows quiet, eyes flicking between Castle and Deborah, forks held frozen between plates and mouths. He can feel Kate next to him, sitting there with baited breath, her whole being buzzing with constrained irritation. He has the feeling no one has ever had the courage to stand up to her before. "And this is why you should never become famous. Goes straight to your head, think you can say anything to anyone and get away with it. Well, I don't like the tone of your voice. It's appalling, and frankly I won't stand for it."

"Well, frankly I won't stand for your appalling treatment of my girlfriend. You've been nothing but rude ever since we arrived."

"_Castle_," Kate hisses, laying a hand on his leg, "it's not worth it, just…"

"-and further more," he continues, squeezing her hand with his own in reassurance but otherwise ignoring her protests, "I have every intention of asking Kate to marry me, in fact I've had a ring for quite a while now, I was just waiting for the opportune moment. And I love our new house, and I love Kate, and we are going to fill that house with some of the most loved children the world has ever seen, and I hope, I really honestly hope that they never turn into someone like you. I want them to be free to do what they want, marry who they want, have kids with who they want and when they want and not feel that they have to conform to your idea of what a society should be."

All eyes are on him now, food now forgotten and slowly going cold. Deborah looks like she's fit to burst, ready to release a tirade of insults on him, and no doubt would have done if Kate hadn't interrupted.

"I think it's time we were off," she says, bringing all of the attention to her, "Dad, thank you for the food. It was gorgeous. I'm sorry we couldn't stay longer. Castle, get your coat."

He doesn't argue, doesn't mention the fact that it's the middle of July and it's far too hot to bother with a coat because he knows she's pissed at him and he knows better than to make it worse. He hovers in the hallway as she says goodbye to everyone else and then she's marching back out of the dining room and pointing a threatening finger at the front door.

* * *

She doesn't talk throughout the whole journey down in the elevator, just stands there with her arms folded, waiting to reach the bottom. So, he waits until they step out of the foyer where he hopes that the brief interlude of him not being an idiot has calmed her slightly.

"Kate-"

"Don't. Just… don't."

"But-"

"Castle, that was my family. _My_ family, who I see maybe once or twice a year. And you just…" she presses her fingers to her temple, trying to soothe what he's long since dubbed _The Castle Headache_.

"She was being rude. To you. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to just sit and let her do that."

"Aunt Deb is rude to everyone. It's just who she is. I'm used to it. We're all used to it, it's just easier to let it go."

"I'm not apologising. I stand by what I said. I don't appreciate her telling you what to do with your hair, or when I should marry you, or that your mother bought you up wrong, or that our house is gaudy. That's our lifestyle, not hers. She doesn't have to live it, so why does she feel the need to comment on it? She doesn't even know what the house looks like."

"No, but she thinks she knows everything. Next time, just let her run out of steam. She will, eventually."

"So, I'm not banned from visiting your family ever again then? That's alright then, I suppose."

"Can't ban them completely, Castle. After all, I'm gonna have to invite them to the wedding, aren't I?"


	30. Chapter 30

**This was going to be considerably more porny but that I bottled at the last minute oops oh no.**

* * *

_I love your collection of books, however varied they may be_

"Are… are you reading porn?"

"No." Kate replies, smooth and easy, almost as if he didn't just walk in on her propped up on pillows and reading_ porn_.

"Kate, there's a naked lady on the cover. Don't deny it."

"I'm not denying it. I'm just saying that it's not porn. It's erotica. It is nothing like the stuff you watch on the Internet."

"It's people having sex for your… pleasure. How is that different?"

Kate drops the book onto the bed with a sigh, folds her arm and stares at him. "Because with porn, you're just watching someone have sex. And yeah, fine, porn is great if you want it quick and easy, but when it's erotic fiction, the words are there, but the pictures are not. There's something utterly delicious about having to imagine the scene instead of just watching it."

"Okay, fine, but if you're just trying to get off…"

"Well, you stick to your Internet and I will stick to my books, and that way everyone's happy."

He tilts his head at her, taking in her appearance, those old misshapen leggings that she point blank refuses to replace and one of his shirts. Not even in her underwear. No hands or fingers anywhere except around the spine of her book. Doesn't look particularly enjoyable, if you asked him. "Nothing like this seems at all happy. It looks like you're just reading a book."

"I am just reading a book. The book I happen to be reading just happens to be about people having sex. I was waiting for you to come home."

His lips still quirk slightly at her calling his loft home, even though she's been doing so for the past few months, and he should be used to it. "Well, I'm home."

"Okay, trousers off, lay down. Close your eyes."

He frowns at her, not entirely sure where this is going, but she's got a look in her eyes where she's not against using physical violence to get him to do what she wants. And he's probably just as intrigued as she is insistant, so he unbuckles his belt and lts his jeans fall to the floor. Kate isn't even watching him, too busy with whatever sexual fantasy is curently being played out on the pages of her so called erotic fiction. She waits until he is settled on the mattress, eyes closed before moving. He can hear the vague sounds of her undressing and he wants to open his eyes and forget about the differences in pornography because it's nothing compared to her. But if she wants to try something new then he's not going to argue. He likes excitement. He likes her excitement, which he can feel, warm and wet against his thigh as she straddles him. His arousal is starting to edge on uncomfortable, hard and straining against his boxers. Except then her nimble fingers are dancing across the soft skin of his hips, tugging at the waistband. "Lift up."

He complies, easily, letting out a sigh as she pulls his boxers down his legs and the pressure around his erection is released. "Do I get to take my shirt off too?"

"No. And you're not allowed to talk."

"What, I'm just... lying here?"

"You're going to lay there, and I'm going to teach you the difference between porn and erotica, and why some people much prefer it to cheesy, completely unrealistic videos on the Internet where half of the time it's all faked."

"Do I have to call you ma'am?"

Kate smirks and wraps her hand around him with determined purposefulness, giving a quick twist of her wrist that makes him squeeze his eyes closed, and the smallest of grunts escapes from his throat. "You're not going to do any talking. You are going to listen, and you are going to get yourself off."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

She gives him a few quick pumps, just until the breath is catching in his throat and then lets him go to reach for the book. She says he's supposed to be touching himself, and he does, one hand curling around his length, but he can't leave her sitting on his leg, naked and all warm skin and not touch her. So, he slides a hand up her thigh. Kate raises a questioning eyebrow at him but lets him continue, choosing to instead flick through the book for what he presumes is a particularly good bit. He watches her, only idly stroking himself for the time being.

"Have you found a good bit yet?"

"There are a lot of good bits. Be patient."

"It's hard to be patient when you're just sat in the nude on my leg."

"Is it hard?" She replies blithely, looking for the entire world like she couldn't care less if anything's hard or not.

"So _very_ hard."

"Do something about it then. Don't need to wait for me."

"We could just forget the book."

"Not as fun that way."

"Well, I beg to differ. Doesn't seem very fun for you."

"Why else do you think I'm sat on your leg?"

"My leg is really not as interesting as other parts. I think we both know that. I am infinitely more interesting than a book. And I can't listen to you reading about other people having sex because I'm having a really hard time not seeing you getting off to it, I'm sorry." He admits, though he doesn't look the least bit apologetic.

"That was not the point of the exercise, Castle."

"We could always participate in actual exercise." he suggests, sitting up and plucking the book from her hands and turning it in his hands so he can see what Kate was just so excited about. "Masters and slaves? Not really my thing."

"I'll remind you of that the next time you try and tie me to the bed." She replies, taking the book back, closing it and throwing it in a vague direction that Castle couldn't care less about. He's not interested in books, and Masters and slaves, he just wants her.


	31. Chapter 31

**IT'S STILL SUNDAY IN AMERICA THEREFORE THIS IS STILL ON TIME COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY ON TIME**

* * *

_I love the way you hog the covers_

She'd gone to bed before him. Tired and slightly grumpy and fed up with people murdering others, she'd said goodnight and left him to his own devices. He'd let her go, knowing that she needs to decompress , but that was two hours ago and he's got notes for two chapters and now he wants sleep. So, he walks into the bedroom, pulling off clothes and running his hands through his hair. Kate likes his bed hair. But he gets into the room with the intention of falling into that deep abyss of unconsciousness, and he finds that Kate, Kate who is usually quite tranquil in sleep, has taken all of the covers and wrapped herself up in them like a cute little Kate Beckett burrito. And normally he would find it positively adorable and would take numerous pictures to be used as blackmail, except he's tired and he wants to sleep. And he can't. Because Kate Beckett burrito is hogging the bed.

He crawls onto the bed behind her, and slowly, ever so very slowly, he tries to peel the covers off her. He thought he was doing quite well until she mutters something inaudible about strawberries and turns over, effectively lying on the sheets he's just managed to save. He purses his lips and contemplates her for a couple of moments. He could sleep without the covers. He could leave her like she is, all delectable and endearing as she is, or he could do the mean thing and wake her up.

He's going to wake her up.

"_Kate."_ She grunts at him, eyes squeezed tight against non-existent light. "Kate, babe."

"Don't call me babe." She mutters, though he thinks she's still more or less asleep and its only the very outer layers of her brain that are currently conscious.

"You're hogging the covers."

She opens one bleary eye, looking at him wearily. She's still beautiful, even when she's sleep rumpled and looks like she wants to smother him with a pillow. But she unwraps herself, slowly and methodically until he can tug the covers up over each other. Kate's never been one for falling asleep while curled up against him, has always found it too uncomfortable a position to stay in for any long length of time, but here she is, curling up next to him and falling more or less straight back to sleep. Or at least, he think she is until she lifts her head and props her chin on his shoulder. "Castle?"

"Mm?"

"I love you."


	32. Chapter 32

**Okay, I am on holiday as of Thursday, so you'll probably get a couple of updates between now and then, but I won't be back until the 27****th****? so I'll update this again before I leave (I hope, I've got a lot on the next few days) and then get up to date when I leave.**

**Don't miss me too much ;)**

* * *

_I love your decorating choices_

"Pink."

"No."

"Blue!"

"Castle-"

"Are you going to veto every single colour I suggest?" Castle huffs, staring at the tins of paint in front of them. "We've got to paint it something, Kate."

"I just… I don't want to know, okay? With the thinking, I don't want to know. I want it to be a surprise. So I don't want blue, or pink. I want something completely gender neutral. And I'm not even…" she turns away from the paint, arms folded protectively across her chest. "There's no need to even paint the …." The word hangs on the tip of her tongue, and she wants to say it, but it scares her. Scares her more than she'd care to admit. "Can we just focus on the rest of the house?"

"Kate, if you don't want…"

"I never said I didn't want it. I'm not saying that at all. It's just a month ago we bought a house, and it's amazing and it's beautiful and I can't wait to live there with you, and then two weeks ago you said you were going to marry me, that you've got a ring and I know practically said yes but now we're thinking about decorating ideas for a room we're probably not going to need for like another year and everything's just…"

"Too fast?"

"Yeah," she sighs, running a hand through her hair, eyes closed and shoulders tense. "I want it, Castle. I do."

"I know you do." He reassures her, slipping his hand into hers. "I'm not doubting you. But okay, we'll leave the nursery until last. What about our room? Or we could do the study, or the library."

"I like copper, for the bedroom. Or a nice brown, with a white ceiling. It's spacious enough for it to not get all dark and gloomy."

"There is nothing wrong with dark and gloomy!"

It's an age old argument about Castle's decorating choices about his bedroom. He'll defend it, saying that it makes it easier to sleep at night. It's darker, there's less light pollution. Kate will argue back about how she wants to be able to stay in bed in the mornings, or during the day, and be able to read a book without having to squint at the pages, and really, there should be no need to have the lights turned on during the day.

"Castle, you can hardly see anything in your room without having a light on."

"That's so not true. You can see the important things. And anyway, the new house has better windows. But okay, browns and whites for the bedroom. What about the library?"

"Are we actually having a library?"

"Kate, between you and me, I think we have enough books to fill two libraries. We are going to need a library."


	33. Chapter 33

**Last update for this, at least, until at least the 27****th****. I'm going to try and get some writing done while I'm away, so I should come back with a fair amount of it for your reading pleasure. But, until then, adios and all that.**

**(P.S. note rating change for this chapter)**

* * *

_I love your dreams_

She wakes and she needs him. It's still dark, and she doesn't think she's been asleep for more than a few hours, but now she's awake and aching and needy and she knows, without a doubt, that without doing _something_ she's not going to get back to sleep again due to sheer unadulterated frustration. Castle is a solid wall of muscle behind her, and her hand fumbles behind her, seeking out warm skin. She finds a hip, and he's stirring already, can sense the way his breathing changes from deep rumbles in his chest to soft slightly stuttering breaths. His body shifts, turning onto his side, pressing every naked inch of him against her equally naked back. Kate doesn't have to do much to get him ready, he's already half hard in her hand and all it takes is a few hard and swift strokes and he's fully erect, swollen and hot against her ass.

Castle's own hand drifts over her hip, feather light and ticklish, he lifts her leg and hooks it behind his knee, giving him an almost unburdened view from her shoulder, past the rise and fall of her breasts, and the tense plane of her stomach. Kate whimpers when his fingers, thick and heavy, brush over her clit with the lightest of pressures, and she pushes back against him until he sinks his teeth into her shoulder with an animalistic growl.

"You're so fucking wet, Kate." And she can feel his lewd grin against his shoulder. "Were you having a nice dream?"

"Strangers on a train." She hisses in response, his fingers still moving against her, but doing anything vastly important. Her own teeth sink into her bottom lip, almost drawing blood as he increases the pressure, adds another finger.

"Alfred Hitchcock turns you on?" he pauses in his ministrations, lifts himself up on an elbow so he can look at her properly in the darkness.

"No," she grunts, trying to get him to move, to do something more productive, "you… you were fucking me on a train. It was crowded and we were pressed up against each other. Like now. And were so… _so_ hard. And you fucked me, in front of all of them. No one knew. I didn't know you, you didn't know me. It was exhilarating."

"So, if I suggested going outside and said _lets go to the park_…"

"God, Castle, can you just stop talking already?"

"Somebody is impatient," he laughs, stroking her hair away from her neck, and while he finds her pulse point with his mouth, nipping and licking at her skin, he guides himself between her lips, coating himself in her juices.

Kate's still, laying there with baited breath, waiting for him to move, but he just stays there. She can feel the head of his cock at her entrance, he just needs one push and he's home, but he's waiting. Teasing her.

"Castle…" she whines, tipping her head back to see if she can catch his mouth, but he's in the position of power and he evades her easily, chuckling at her desperation. She doesn't find it funny, not in the slightest, but her irritation, the frustration soon decipitates when he finally moves, inch by inch, stretching her, filling her. The move unbalances both of them and he ends up pressing her down into the mattress with his weight. She's found he likes this position, though he finds it hard to persuade her, especially when they both seek the upper hand in bed. But he likes to be in charge, likes to be the one who controls everything and when it's like this, all Kate can do to tilt her hips at a certain angle to gain the friction from the sheets, and try to hold on.


End file.
